


walk the warpath

by valdera



Series: hxh fast food au [1]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Gen, M/M, Panic Attacks, Unreliable Narrator, agender kalluto, do some ships count as background if they have an entire chapter dedicated to them, not enough violence to be graphic but its there, oblivious romance to the nth degree, the entire phantom troupe is mentioned at some point... gangs all here folks, there are way too many characters im not tagging them all, this is halfway a clusterfuck but id like to think its an enjoyable clusterfuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 16:38:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 53,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9557456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valdera/pseuds/valdera
Summary: He's sitting across from a total stranger who is possibly, inconceivably, drunk off his ass (and how the hell do you get drunk off ofsoda?), and they're just sitting in McDonald’s on a Tuesday night. Kurapika looks at the wallet laid out on the center of the table. His name is Leorio Paladiknight, he notes, looking at the ID. This is also possibly illegal, and Kurapika doesn’t fancy staying in prison, but he’s bored and as sad as it is, this random stranger is the only exciting thing in his life right now.In which the Kurta village is the Kurta restaurant chain, and the Phantom Troupe burned Kurapika's home to the ground. Years later, he's burning with an unsettling vendetta, determined to scour the ranks of McDonald's and catch the people who murdered his family.It just happens to be that his very coworkers are the people he’s sworn to kill.(fast food au).





	1. hellspawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've worked on this for a _year_. An _entire fucking year._ It's been over a year since I started writing fanfiction, over a year working on this multichap that has basically defined my life... just _whoa,_ you know? I couldn't have ever imagined this when I first started writing this thing, and honestly, the result has been so worthwhile and amazing. but yeah. enough about me.
> 
> sit back and relax, people. grab some popcorn. enjoy the show.

He’s staring up at the ceiling, focusing entirely too much on his breathing as a weird sort of suffocation overtakes him. And now he’s taking large gasps of air, not sure how to push it properly out of his mind again, not sure if he’s breathing right because his chest _hurts_ in an odd way he can’t describe. His hair has been clipped back, and his vision is almost overwhelming without out the familiar ghost of his hair over his eyes. He blinks and tries to calm down, watching the sun spots trace curves along the ceilings in purples and greens. Sometimes they’re a little bit orange.

Kurapika groans. His fingers grapple for the iPad resting on his belly, and he grabs it after blindly flailing around. He brings it above his face before flopping to the side, head nestling on the armrest of the couch, iPad placed in his direct line of sight.

In front of him is a chessboard, sprites of black and white chess pieces. The board is mostly empty now, with just a few pieces on each side. He takes down a bishop with one of his knights.

_Make your move_ , he thinks viciously, and the black pawn obliges, taking down his last knight. No harm done, at least. Now the black side just has a few pawns and their king. The knight doesn’t really mean much anyways.

He hums thoughtfully, moves his rook and declares, “Check,” to the empty air.

The king moves meekly away, hopping a tile, and he yawns, sliding the rook again.

“Check.”

The king moves.

The rook moves. “Check.

Hops another tile.

Rook. “Check.”

Hops another tile.

Rook. “Check.”

It hops again, and Kurapika moves his queen diagonally, just for variation. “ _Check_ ,” he announces irritably. His voice echoes across the apartment, mocking his aloneness.

The king moves.

He breathes in once and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay,” he mutters. “Sure. Do whatever the fuck you want.” He glares. “You’re still going to die.”

_You’re outnumbered_ , he thinks, and slides a bishop into place.

The king moves.

He smirks; online chess means there’s no going back.

“Check,” he mumbles, dragging the queen across the screen with a content smile, “and mate.”

It dies.

There’s a ‘YOU WIN’ message flashing on his screen, in psychedelic pink and green text.

If only _life_ was that easy.

Kurapika closes the tab and switches it to another one. Time to get back to work.

He looks at the white wall of text before him, turns away to rub his eyes, takes a deep, deep breath, and turns around, beginning at the top. _Phantom Troupe, Phantom Troupe_ , he thinks, scanning the page for anything of importance.

Within a minute of reading, he lets out a long-suffering sigh. Rumors again. This time the tale has been recounted with absurdly bad grammar, and ads keep on popping up every minute.

They are cloaked in invincibility; if nobody’s lived to tell the tale, why wouldn't they be? The Phantom Troupe is famous for the blood they leave in their wake, for the treasures they steal, for the places they wreak havoc upon. Any Gourmet Hunter worth their salt knows to avoid them unless they crave death.

Kurapika runs his hand through his hair, letting the iPad balance precariously on the sofa without a second thought. He stretches once, arms thrown back, almost knocking the iPad off. He pops up into a sitting position. The sofa shakes under the little jump, and iPad falls off the couch. Kurapika catches it, half his body leaning off the couch, fingers pressed against each side, barely holding on. Kurapika aimlessly spins it up through the air, and catches it again, stabbing the power button. He tosses it to the other side of the couch.

Swinging his feet, he bounces onto the floor, and paces around the room until he decides to stalk off of the carpeted area. His feet hit cool tiles, and the sensation calms him down a bit, but not enough to change things. So he leans on a chair and sighs, closing his eyes.

_Useless!_ He grits his teeth. Unreliable sources, vague stories, incidents that scream impossible. Kurapika wonders how long he can keep this up; researching off empty air, waiting for a sign that may never come. He feels like he's running in circles, staring at a screen for all time, watching the white glow into infinity.

The only thing that tells him something new happens is the way his eyes sting after staring too hard.

He didn’t like those white chess pieces either; the real life game has the decency to make them a vanilla color. Pure white is bright and blinding and irritating and not at all a nice color. Angels wear pure white? Well, _goddamn_ , wouldn’t you know it, Lucifer was an angel at one point, too.

He glances out to the window, and his feet follow his line of sight, moving him forward until his face is almost pressed up against the glass. His nose bumps against it, sending a shiver down his spine. It’s unusually cold for this time of year. Kurapika peers down at the street beneath, catching the sight of a window box growing flowers. It’s sight for sore eyes. The buds aren’t even visible yet, but the shoots are bright and green, comforting in the swaths of grey and monotony that cloak the landscape.

The sunlight makes the green irresistibly captivating, but he knows that the prettiest greens are seen during long nights. The darkest shades appear then, in the glow of the forest in a midnight sky, ethereal and enchanting. If there are sirens luring sailors to their doom in dark waters, he thinks that those hints of green under the light of the fireflies would lead travelers astray from beaten-down paths, into brambles and thorns and solace. Kurapika remembers as if it were yesterday: long walks under the moonlight, leading Pairo along a small trail, gnarled tree roots and the sound of their footsteps.

Kurapika remembers falling asleep in that small silence sometimes, warm air covering them like a shroud, remembers waking up and slowly making his way back to the village, grass tickling his bare feet.

Kurapika remembers the mint and thyme that hung at his doorstep, traveling the air and sweetening the wind, and he remembers the people calling out to him, grinning wide and saying, ‘ _Kurapika!_ ’ and his heart swells with warmth at the thought.

_It’s lonely in the city_ , he realizes. There are some similarities—the chatter of the village and the hustle bustle of daily activities—but they feel _impersonal_ , he thinks, cold and reserved. He blinks down at the humanoid figures passing beneath him. He can’t recognize them, not like this, not when everyone has no name and a nondescript face, not when there’s barely a chance he’ll ever see them again. He swallows. Maybe there are people down there, people he could meet and laugh with, but he hasn’t had a friend in years, and he doesn’t plan to.

He wonders if there are people as crazy as him, and his mind drifts to other Hunters he’s met, but none of them ever were nice enough, or liked him enough, or were… _good_ enough. Nothing makes sense; nothing has made sense in a while.

_Things are different here_ , he thinks, closing his eyes. He steps away from the window and collapses against the wall with a sigh.

The familiar feeling of home encases him. He focuses on his hands, lets his body slowly warm up, ignores the odd angle his neck is in. None of that matters; the only thing that matters is that he needs to be _home_.

It’s been a long time since their restaurant closed down, Kurapika knows, but he can’t help looking back. The memories from back then are sweet like golden rays of sunlight peeking through little spaces between tree branches, like that full-body comfort that nothing but basking in sunlight can do.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder; and Kurapika is desperately fond, because the Kurta village is nothing but ashes that have long since scattered.

Kurapika does not have a single memento except for those clothes from long ago, carefully folded up and hidden. He does not have anything from the restaurant he once lived in, the same one that world-famous critics would visit.

And that’s what's strange. The Kurta chain is famous in every respect. But the place he calls home is only a legend, a place that was born in stories and ends in stories. Soon, he knows, it will disappear from all minds, as the tale is told less and less, and as the words become so jumbled that the Kurta chain will exist no longer.

But that’s not right.

Because Kurapika _knows_.

He knows that his home existed, that he lived there once, that he breathed that air and loved and he knows because he’s still _alive_. His eyes are still red and they burn as bright as ever, and that is one memento that will stay until he dies.

The Phantom Troupe may be miraculous; they may know how to storm a building and bathe it in blood, and they may know how to make an entire legacy disappear overnight, but they don’t know about him.

The images are burned into his brain, vivid and scarring, like invisible gashes that wrap around his body, dried blood sealing up the cuts, burns marring his skin into ugly pinks and browns. And this is what haunts him:

_An orange blaze, sweeping through the grass, tinged with sparks of yellow and red. Smoke rising from the ground, thick and awful, seeping into his throat. Blackened bodies at his feet, eyes hollowed and bloody, faces flat and devoid of anything. Laughing, somewhere in the distance—or maybe it’s just his own hysteria. And then the sounds, louder than the fire, louder than the entire world, of little legs crawling across the ground in stampedes. Eyes slowly looking down, hands shivering, lungs feeling like they could collapse. Across the forest floor, burning into shreds only to multiply, swarming the ground until it is covered in black. Spiders, amalgamations of phantoms and blood, marching up his legs, marching the world to its death._

And then: _scars blooming out of his skin, hatred seeping into his veins._

_Red. Red. Red._

Absence makes his heart grow sicker.

Suddenly there's an itch on his skin, like bristles are rubbing against it, sharp and disgusting. His breathing grows heavy because even though Kurapika knows, he doesn't know how to deal with this.

He’s the only one _left._ There were a hundred people in that village and Kurapika is the only one left. And not a single one of those ninety-nine had a proper funeral, and not a single one of those ninety-nine have their eyes.

Kurapika’s eyes snap open, and he scrambles to his feet hastily, hands grabbing the window’s ledge. He swings himself up with shaky balance, but he’s shivering with rage and everything is growing blank until only one thing matters. There is _no_ time for rest! No peace, no sanctuary, no comfort will ever be achieved until he avenges them! This is the one thing he has to do, on pain of death or worse! He _swore!_ He swore to himself that he would _never_ let his resentment go!

He throws up his hands in exasperation. To _hell_ with this! There's only _one_ place that would ever house monsters like this. He stalks over to his closet, pulling out a random pair of clothes. He's heading over to the office, and _nothing_ is getting in his way.

His hair has fallen from the clips in his frenzy, and the ghost of his hair is back in his vision again, gold and bright. It’s a color often associated with wealth and superiority, but Kurapika knows something far more sinister carries gold wherever they flee. _Archways_ , he thinks, _and_ _royalty._ It is a pinnacle of filth, he thinks, so large, so unassuming, but Kurapika _knows_. And he’s felt the spiders when he’s ever walked near, and the colors—disgustingly saturated reds and golds—have burned into his brain. A smile grows on his face, painful and vicious.

Kurapika suddenly throws his head back and cackles, wild and unabashed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *glances up to chapter title* hells _pawn_. ha. get it? bc he plays chess??? im dead inside
> 
> trying to update biweekly!! technically i have up to ch 12 written,, but im heavily editing so...
> 
> huge shoutout to @hxh-textposts on tumblr!!! literally the reason this exists
> 
> and of course, if you want to find _me,_ im on tumblr as @sonnets-of-beauty!!


	2. just according to keikaku

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When have clowns ever been employed at McDonald's? Actually, Kurapika thinks, Ronald McDonald is fairly creepy himself, and this clown does have red hair—_  
>     
> The clown is still staring. His red hair, in shocking contrast to the aforementioned Ronald, is slicked back and spiky, and the grin that grows on the clown’s face is downright sadistic. And the aura that’s hanging around him is far from a friendly sign.
> 
> _He's probably some creepy stalker that lures innocent children into ice cream trucks and massacres them. That smile is really unnerving, why don’t I just punch him in the face already—_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (translators note: keikaku means plan)
> 
> please let me lower your expectations before you think im writing 6K chapters all the time,, most of my chapters are around 3.5K not whatever this is in fact this chapter is like 5 times the original length??? i hate myself. on the other hand i havent actually edited any of the other chapters yet so who knows what will happen
> 
> also im so sorry for the shitty chapter titles but it is. A Thing now so.
> 
> anyways, enough of my rambling. enjoy!!

Halfway through his stomp to the office, he realizes that McDonald’s doesn’t actually have an office to submit applications, and he stands frozen in the street, mortified. After taking a few minutes to properly compose himself, he begins the walk home, slightly sheepish.

Kurapika wonders how a place like McDonald's got famous. He can't put it past shady business dealings and black market trades, but he feels as if there has to be more, something that makes them a step above the rest. Especially in Yorknew; the flood of people he sees when he passes by their locations is frightening.

Either way, he decides, it's not worth worrying about. He needs to go find that online application form and bullshit his way through the questionnaire. Turns out, there's a location fairly close to him that's looking for new employees. The requirements are fairly simple—prior experience and a cool head. Kurapika figures he can give it a shot. It's honestly straightforward, just asking about his prior experience and other generic qualities employers like. Kurapika makes his answers true, vaguely writing down his specifications. He looks down at the form before him. The text he’s written out sounds flat, dull, and emotionless. They may hire him, but there’s no way he’ll get close to the boss.  He sighs, and begins to retype his answers. Once he’s sufficiently pleased with his answer quality, he hits send and turns his IPad off. He gets up from his seat on the couch, looking at the clock.

8:00 P.M.

_Can I make it?_

He decides to push the thought out of his mind, so he slips on his shoes and heads out. Kurapika hasn't bought a car yet, and nor does he plan to, so he calls a taxi, and gets off at the edge of the city. Yorknew city is weird, he decides, in the way that it’s so cut off from the rest of civilization. There’s a point where the roads just stop and the border just… ends. It’s a jagged transition from machine to grassland. The houses are few and far here, dotting the distance like tiny little specks. Of course, there’s a port on a different side of the city, which is where it thrives most.

He strolls leisurely along a trail, making a sharp diagonal into the trees. Soon enough, his view is blocked by the trees that surround him, and the only lighting source is the moonlight streaming through the gaps. The little trail has disappeared entirely, veering off to a direction with much more open space. Kurapika conjures a little flicker of fire, and the place around him seems to glow, leaves tinted gold-green and bark a bright caramel color. He wriggles out of his shoes and sits on the ground, bare feet tickled by the grass. He rubs his free hand on the bark, tracing the ridges and contours. He presses his thumb on trunk of the tree, softly. When he removes his hand, there is a small imprint on his skin.

The fire flickers out of existence.

That’s the longest he’s gotten it to go for, he realizes. Fire is hardest to conjure due to the fact that you can’t exactly stick your hand in a flame. He checks his watch. _It’s late_ , he thinks, _but there’s still time._

Quietly, he stands up.

He drags his feet over the grass, moving farther into the forest—he’ll be able to find his way back—and he stares up at the moon, obscured by tall trees that seem to stretch up for miles.

Instinctively, his feet move.

There is a dance, Kurapika remembers, a Kurta dance, and he’d learned it once, under the cover of darkness, Pairo’s laughing voice right beside him. _A left step, and then a right step, a sway, a twirl—you’ve almost got it! And up there, a little leap—_

Kurapika laughs. It a clear, rich sound and it fills up the empty air.

The night laughs back.

He wants to cry out Pairo’s name, almost as if the village is back—and the memories rush into him.

He dances. He runs through the forest— _left step, right step, sway to the side, circle around that tree, and leap over the roots_ —and he has never felt so alive. It’s not perfect, but it’s real, it’s so _real—_

_Can’t you feel it? You don’t have to watch where you’re going if the forest watches you._

Kurapika _loves_ this. He _loves_ this, he _loves_ this with a burning passion and his eyes are glistening scarlet from pleasure.

Scattered chirps call through the air, piercing and light. They are the birds that wake in the night, before all the other ones that rise with sun.

 _Dawn is close,_ Kurapika realizes.

He heads back to the spot where he left his shoes, and slips them on, wiggling his toes to get used to the feeling. Taking in a deep breath, he stares at the forest around him. Somehow, he knows he won’t be back until a long time.

 _One last time_ , he wants to beg.

 _No_ , he tells himself, shaking his head. _This is goodbye._

The chains reform around his hand, and he turns his back on the forest.

This is his resolve.

 

* * *

 

He opens his eyes and turns towards the clock at his bedside.

It's 5:00 A.M.

He groans, clutches the blankets tighter and burrows his head inside his pillow. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. He _refuses_ to wake up this early

It doesn’t work, but Kurapika stubbornly stays in bed for a few more minutes until the heat from the blankets becomes unbearable.

He takes that as his cue to get out of bed, and goes through a standard morning routine, slipping out of his pajamas into a comfortable day outfit.

Kurapika exits his apartment from the second floor, not bothering to take the elevator. It’s a lot easier to jump out of the balcony, and surprisingly less noticeable. Landing gracefully, he makes his way to the nearest Starbucks, simultaneously wondering at what point he’ll finally cave in and get a coffee machine. After waiting in line along with some other early risers, he leaves, strolling along the streets.

They say there’s no time for rest in Yorknew, that the world is constantly shifting, but here he is, on a lazy alleyway, sipping his coffee and heading towards the soon-to-be crowded bazaar.

Lots of people are wrong.

The coffee is truthfully kind of disgusting, even more than usual, and Kurapika caves, deciding he’d probably be better off trying to make his own. Years as a Gourmet Hunter have taught him _something_ , even if most of his work had less to do with the food and more to do with whatever the employer wanted him to find. Still, you can’t work in restaurants and risk your life trying to get a rare brand of chilli just for it all to mean _nothing_.

He passes by shopkeepers, and they turn silent as he strolls along, the dust and sand rising, coiling with wind and swirling through the air. His bangs hang low above his eyes, hiding his face. Closing his eyes, he releases his _En_ , but nothing appears out of the ordinary, and his shoulders relax. There are pinpricks of _Nen_ , but there always are, so he can’t seem to find anything strange, even though everything feels unsettling.

Kurapika picks up a coffee plant from some shady seller, but the aura of it feels lively, so he trusts it’s worth the price. Then he speeds his way through the bazaar, and soon, he’s back in the city streets, where people have started to crowd.

A van drives noisily on the road next to him, eliciting indignant shrieks from the cars driving behind it. Kurapika sighs, and vanishes down a dark lane, running his fingers through his hair. The front is getting a bit long, he decides, and so he whips out one of his chains and slices through the front.

Pieces of hair fall to the ground, a stark contrast to the gray concrete, and Kurapika heads to his apartment.

When he’s jumped back in, Kurapika takes a quick shower, and checks the weather. It’s bound to rain soon, according to the forecast, and the clouds that gather outside seem to support it.

Paying it no mind, he decides to make a trip to the McDonald’s he’s applying to. If applications for McDonald’s in that location are open, that means there’s been a sudden staff shortage, which is fairly suspicious. He knows that it was probably just someone who moved on to a different job and that McDonald’s needs lots of workers, but his intuition is telling him that there’s something more to it.

So he pins his hair behind his head and puts on a wig, making sure it stays firmly in place. The fake hair falls down his back, long and silver, and it stays tucked in behind a long trench coat. He shoves on some sunglasses to mask his eyes, and makes his way down the stairs and out the apartment before glancing up at the sky.

The clouds looming above are dark and seem to sag under the weight of the sky. Kurapika frowns and looks back. _Too late to get an umbrella_ , he decides. As if on cue, the air rumbles in anticipation. The droplets of water start to fall, hitting the asphalt with a sharp cracking sound.

Kurapika lets the water soak through his trench coat until he is numb to the cold, and sets off. There’s a high possibility this trip will be for nothing. But everything in his possible power he can do he _must_ do, because if he does it any other way, he’ll regret it.

And he will not allow regrets.

This chance isn’t getting away from him.

 

* * *

 

Once again, like every other McDonald’s he’s passed by, everything is infuriatingly normal and commonplace, even as he lurks at the corner, gritting his teeth and pushing up his sunglasses, rain pattering down on the rooftop. That’s why he hates it, after all; he knows exactly what’s going on behind the scenes, and yet, every time he tries searching, not a single thing seems out of place.

The aura of the restaurant is slightly sinister, but it doesn’t seem to have any real malicious intent or person behind it. All it really does is mask the people inside.

Kurapika takes note of the bell ringing as customers exit and enter, hurrying through the rain, hopping over puddles and avoiding mud, feet tapping down the pavement. Their auras are normal. Some of them take a moment to give him strange glances (parents immediately look away, but some children just stand and stare unnervingly until they are pulled elsewhere) but none of them stay for long. But Kurapika lingers, hands cupped out in front of him, watching the rain crawl down his fingers and collect in his palms.

The bell tolls again, and Kurapika flicks his eyes over to the door, calmly watching the man who exits.

He freezes in place, blood running cold, and hastily wipes the front of his sunglasses with his sleeve.

_Something is wrong._

Almost instinctively, Kurapika follows, but he catches himself, slowing his pace and stalking him from a safe distance. The man has deep black hair, shiny and slick, under the falling rain, and he moves in a blur, faster than an average human. He’s obscured by a giant black coat with a fur-lined collar, and his neck is bent oddly forward, covering any distinctive facial features. Even so, he looks tall and commanding in the rain, dark and overpowering compared to his bland surroundings. The feeling of his _Nen_ is cold and slimy, and Kurapika almost shivers under its weight, but he convinces himself that it’s just the rain (he’s been standing in the rain for the past hour without batting an eye) and forges onwards, masking his presence. He weaves through city streets, gazing up at the lights that glow from the buildings, and follows, watching as the buildings rise higher and higher, screaming money and power.

They stop in front of a giant building—huge glass doors and sky-high, professional-looking security stationed out in front—and the man straightens up, staring dead ahead.

Kurapika cautiously steps forward, clenching his fist and testing the chains on it. A thrill runs through him, and he increases his pace, tugging on the strands of his wig and making sure that it holds in place. He’s close now; unbearably close, so much so that he feels like drowning in the man’s _Nen_ , but he can see finer details now, like the glint of of something metal by the tip of his collar— _a_ _knife?_ —and a marking on his forehead, though it’s unclear exactly what it is. He steps closer, foot sloshing around in a puddle, and he sees the slight smirk form on his face, foreboding and terrifying. Kurapika can just faintly make out sounds from the phone the man has drawn out.

“Yes, I see it.”

A pause.

“Now sounds nice, Franklin,”

Kurapika commits the name to memory and moves closer. His fist unclenches and his chains come dangling down, ends pointed upwards and ready to strike.

He steps out of the shadows, preparing for confrontation—

_And then—_

_And then—_

_Terror._

A _boom_ shakes the ground, thundering up in the sky, orange and loud and burning, and suddenly everything turns white.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to think—it’s that he _can’t_ and the world crashes down on him, with that _boom_ that makes his heart constrict and beat in sheer horror, and then he sees the building, flames lighting up the sky, pieces crumbling from the sides and falling down, down, down, and _then he hears the screams_ —

“Good job,” he hears faintly, and catches a glimpse of the man’s sadistic smile, _but nothing matters anymore_ , because before him is a building that turns into ash, grey and grey and dead, and he feels the scars etched into his skin, pink and raw and vulnerable, and as he looks up at the sky through darkened eyes, he sees the blood raining down, red and bright and something breaks. And then Kurapika is dashing forward, smashing through the doors and running into the fire, burning into bits, _red bright red_ and screaming his heart out.

He finds a little girl with blue hair, crying in the corner and he sweeps her up, hands trembling. Kurapika hands her off to the people banging on the window, smashes the glass wildly and screams at them, something vaguely like _save them_ , but he hears nothing, just feels the tears in his eyes, and he runs away, _up up up_ , scrambling past stairs and busting open doors. He slices through the metal of the elevator doors on each floor and finally finds a group huddled together, screams _out out out_ with pitiful desperation and dashes away, ignoring the way his throat is dry and burning. Kurapika pushes past the first-responders, steps taking him to the very top, eyes wild and wide and full of fear.

He registers another blast, and the floor shakes, shuddering and about to give way. There is nothing here—just the flames curling around him, a plain white floor void of furniture, and thousands of memories that flood his mind.

Everything turns empty, and he steps away, stumbling backwards until he hits the glass. Numbly, his chains smash through it, whipping away the flying glass, and he takes a deep breath, rubbing away his tears.

Kurapika falls.

The sunglasses slip off and shatter as they hit the ground; his wig catches fire from stray embers and turns to ash; his coat is singed and irreparable; he looks at the building burnt to ashes and cries his heart out again.

The chains save him again, as they tighten around his fingers and smash into the ground, holding him up into the sky, and as Kurapika sees the moon, a crescent sliver of white above him, the chains lower him to the ground.

He falls to his knees, hands ripping the pins out of his hair, and his bangs fall over his head, uncomfortably short and open. He feels like he’s choking, humming in broken notes from deep in his throat, and swallows and looks up again when he realizes it’s a song from home.

Somehow, he picks himself up before anyone finds him, and shakily makes his way back, humming weakly, and then he stumbles to the ground in an alleyway, pavement burning against his knees. Kurapika stares at his pitiful self, lost and alone in a dark corner, and he cries again, quieter. He stands up and his shoulder knocks against the wall, and it hurts more than it should. He trails his knuckles across the sides of buildings, blood painting the wall, and that’s how he holds himself upright, streaking the walls with red until he reaches his door. He fumbles with the keys and unlocks the door with two hands, twisting the doorknob slowly.

Kurapika steps inside and the door swings shut behind him with a sense of finality.

He collapses on the floor, disheveled and broken, closes his eyes, and waits for sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

He wakes up cold, empty, and he realizes that now there’s something more under the surface, an anger that will explode any minute.

Kurapika gets up slowly; his body aches uncomfortably from the hard floor, and it feels like he’s moving in strange, stiff motions.

He looks around him and the blood has dried on his knuckles in clunky, uneven maroon, rough when he trails his fingers over them. He picks at it until it bleeds again, gritting his teeth. And then he wraps a bandage around his hand, watching the fresh blood soak in with a blank stare.

His mouth is dry and it feels disgusting. The light from his window is bright out, but it doesn’t feel like morning. He feels heavy, like he’s about to fall back in bed and sleep for a very long time.

A sharp sound rings into the air, discordant and piercing, and Kurapika startles. His heart jumpstarts into erratic beats and he sweeps his eyes across the room in panic.

The IPad’s screen glows bright under the shadowy room, sun obscured by old curtains. Kurapika rises to his feet and walks to the screen, blinking as the harsh light hits him in the face. Rubbing his eyes, he yawns and then blearily looks at the one proudly displayed email notification.

He spares a muttered curse to spam emails, and unlocks his screen, ready to throw it into his junk folder, like every other time.

Only things are a little bit different. He slowly reads the email aloud with his hoarse voice, each word leaving his throat tight, and he purses his lips.

And then, slowly, a smile breaks out onto his face.

_5:00 pm._

_McDonalds is hiring._

The message is curt—it does not hide behind formalities and it doesn’t play nice—and reading it feels refreshing.

It feels like something new is unfurling in his chest, something bright, something that could change everything, and Kurapika picks up iPad, carrying it out of the room into sunlight. The warmth hits him like a bullet, and with the sun glittering on his skin, that something uncurls itself, stretching and expanding through his entire nervous system. He feels it like a hum; a radiant kind of buzzing that makes his fingers tingle in excitement.

 _5:00 pm_ , he thinks, looks at the clock and calculates how much time he has. Not much, which would stress him out in any other case, but he’s been waiting for far too long to be patient.

After all this time, something is finally going according to plan.

Kurapika out at the gray building, looks out and looks up, eyes tracing higher than all the skyscrapers, looks higher until the sky spreads out before him in all its expanse, bright blue and soft and white.

Kurapika clenches his fist. Maybe— _maybe_ this is temporary, maybe it’ll all fall through his feet, but for now, he just wants to hold that feeling of accomplishment close.

He opens his closet and contemplates. And without meaning to, his fingers reach for the Kurta-like clothes he’d had tailored a while back. He remembers seeing the workers wearing them in that restaurant, remembers the way they’d held their backs high…

His fingers grasp the fabric. He pulls it off the hanger with a sort of reverence. He breathes in quietly, in the stifling silence, in his cold apartment, in this lonely city.

 _I’m the only one left,_ Kurapika thinks. _I’m the only one that can avenge you._ Kurapika remembers that feeling of honor and pride that had surged through him when he first started helping out in the restaurant.

Kurapika remembers exactly what it is he’s fighting for

He changes into it in a trance-like daze, breathing in and out, in and out.

Kurapika straightens his back.

The red and blue is proud and bright, and the design is unmistakable. The fabric fits around him like soft whispers, comforting and impeccable. His lips curl into a smile.

If Kurapika is a warrior, this is his armor.

 

* * *

 

He can’t help but frown when the logo comes into view; as always, it’s disgustingly eye-catching, and Kurapika can feel a small part of himself shrivel up and die when he realizes that he’ll be working there soon enough. A bigger part of him also just wants to shrivel up in general, because there’s a dark and foreboding aura that seeps through the walls—a stain pouring rain cannot wash away. And then he wonders why he’s never caught it before, why the aura is only seeping out now, like a ferocious wave intent on destruction. _Unnatural_ , he thinks, _but when has McDonald’s ever been natural?_ He wrinkles his nose; thank fucking god he doesn’t have to work in the kitchen.

He clutches the chains tightly in his fist, rubbing his fingers over the cool metal, feeling the familiar press against his skin.

 _Warrior_ , he thinks, and walks in, head held high.

A bell sounds in his wake as he pushes the door open, note high and clear.

The lights are on, but they feel dim compared to the sun outside, which is slowly dipping down into night. Still, it’s much brighter than the inside.

The interior is sparse and much like other fast food stops, but this one seems larger and cleaner than most of the fast food places he's visited, not that it matters. It's empty at the moment, so he wanders around, looking to see any health code violations.

His nerves are on edge; that aura remains settled over the room like a thick mist. Kurapika’s not sure what to expect.

 _Okay_ , he thinks, feeling the indents of chain links on his fingers, _you’ve got a plan. Find out everything you can and find out exactly where they’re hiding._

The room is eerily silent. Kurapika’s eyes slowly sweep over the barren floor. A giggle echoes in his ear.

He freezes. His chains dangle in the quiet.

“Unripe fruit…”

He turns around and immediately winds up his arm, ready to slam that sucker in the face and—

It's a _clown_. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to laugh or cry (which is honestly a pretty normal reaction to seeing a clown.)

This has got to be a fucking joke.

The clown blinks, slowly. His eyes are a sick kind of yellow, and they stare Kurapika down, eyes trailing over his body.

He takes an instinctive step back. “You, do you…work here?”

 _When have clowns ever been employed at McDonald's?_ _Actually_ , Kurapika thinks, _Ronald McDonald is fairly creepy himself, and this clown_ does _have red hair—_

The clown is still staring. His red hair, in shocking contrast to the aforementioned Ronald, is slicked back and spiky, and the grin that grows on the clown’s face is downright sadistic. And the aura that’s hanging around him is far from a friendly sign.

_He's probably some creepy stalker that lures innocent children into ice cream trucks and massacres them. That smile is really unnerving, why don’t I just punch him in the face already—_

"I work here. Are you the new employee?” He drawls out the word _employee_ languidly, eyes alight with madness. He reveals a pack of cards from seemingly nowhere, and then throws them through the air in scattered directions before they all fly right back to his palm. The clubs and spades on the front of his shirt make a vague sort of sense now.

“Would you like to draw a card?”

Kurapika shakes his head vigorously,

Clown-magician-employee or not, he’d still be creepy. He eyes the clown’s face paint. It’s scarily perfect, and he wonders if it’s actually a tattoo, and if is, why the clown makes such horrible life decisions. _Actually,_ this _is a horrible life decision_ , he thinks wearily.

“Pakunoda will show you the ropes,” the clown offers as a sort of truce.

 _I don’t know who Pakunoda is!_ Kurapika wants to scream, but he just nods stiffly.

“Oh dear,” the clown says, voice saccharine and sickening. “Did you lose your voice?”

“No,” he says sharply. The clown’s smile grows wider. A shiver runs down Kurapika’s spine, and he backs away. _Where the hell is everyone else?_

The bell chimes once again, answering his prayers.

Almost immediately, the clown’s eyes light up. They flash a strange kind of yellow-gold as the man walks in. And that’s the strange part, because the clown is facing him, and Kurapika’s the only one that can see him.

“Oh,” the clown breathes, smiling a vile fully-toothed grin.  

 _Speak the devil’s name, and he shall appear,_ Kurapika thinks dryly. It is possible that the man walking through the door is even _worse_. On one hand, he supposes it’s good—the man’s aura is formidable and dark, and it feels eerily familiar. Kurapika's breath hitches. He’s getting closer. Trepidation washes over him like rough waves, and his toes curl inwards. He stands completely still, eyes tracking the man’s footsteps.

“Hello,” the man says loftily. His voice is soft and enticing, like raven feathers. “I am Chrollo.”

Kurapika stares.

Chrollo stares back with an unnervingly pleasant smile. His hair is deep and black, falling in front of the beige bandana he’s tied around his forehead. He’s wearing large turquoise earrings that glint in the dim lights of the restaurant, blue-green orbs attached to the ends of metal coils.

“Pakunoda will be here in a few seconds,” the man announces, and then glances towards the clown, who smiles brightly, standing tall.

Kurapika stiffens, and slowly shuffles away from the two of them.

The intensity of both those gazes is electric, charged with fervent frenzy, and it makes Kurapika feel an intense kind of black pounding in his chest. _It’s the aura_ , he realizes all at once, and then that aura hits him like a python lashing out, wrapping around him like a dusky haze, dark and darker.

One light burns out.

The bell tolls.  

“Pakunoda’s here,” Chrollo says with satisfaction. He looks at the clown and gives a curt nod. “I’m the head of the Yorknew McDonald’s chain,” Chrollo tells Kurapika, gaze threatening.

And that will probably be the only thing Kurapika will learn about him, because Chrollo is already turning around to pull the door open. The clown follows with a lazy grin.

The bell rings into the air again, and while the aura lingers, the lighting seems to be significantly brighter. The sunset may also have had something to do with that.

“Hi,” he greets. His voice feels naked out in the open air.

The woman nods. “I’m Pakunoda,” she says, tone brisk. “And you’re Kurapika.” She says it like fact, which it probably is, but her unwavering voice makes something in Kurapika’s head click.

 _This is the woman who wrote the letter_ , he realizes.

Her forehead is wide and free of any bangs, and her eyes are sharp and discerning. Her hair is a dull gold color, and it comes up a little short to her shoulders, curling inwards against her neck. She’s wearing dark black pants along with a purple blouse. Her lips are pressed in a thin line; her expression is flat.

He hopes they’ll get along, or at least form some sort of an understanding. Pakunoda walks past him and towards the cash register, jumping over the counter like she does it every day. Kurapika follows, cautiously making his way over the counter, looking for any other way to just walk in.

None. Pakunoda narrows her eyes at him, places a hand on his shoulder.

He wants to back away, but her hand is firm, so he just stays there, trying not to sweat embarrassingly. _If looks could kill_ , he thinks, _I’d be dead_. Pakunoda’s eyes flash in recognition, and he wonders just what kind of expression he has on his face.

“There are no other ways to walk in,” Pakunoda says. “It’s just a design failure. And in case you were wondering, I'm not going to kill you.” She removes his hand from his shoulder and Kurapika relaxes, sighing.

 _Uncanny_ , he thinks. It’s creepily close yet also completely unrelated to what he was actually thinking.

Kurapika doesn't have a habit of saying his thoughts out loud, and he doesn't think he's too easy to read, either. But something in Pakunoda’s narrowed eyes tells him he's an open book.

The thought is disconcerting.

“Now,” Pakunoda says, “you've got prior experience, correct?”

“Of course,” Kurapika says. He'd be hopeless back at home if he wasn't any good.

“Then you'll be good enough,” Pakunoda says, and sighs.

“Did someone work here before me?” Kurapika demands. He doesn’t mean to come off as harsh, but it’s not exactly the nicest feeling to know that he’s just a replacement.

“Never,” Pakunoda says. “They’re always dropping in and off like fruit flies.”

“I’m not… a fruit fly,” Kurapika says, not exactly sure how he’s supposed to respond.

“Astute observation,” Pakunoda says. She offers a small smile. “Working in fast food isn't that great, but—” She shrugs. “You get used to it.”

“Why?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you start working here?”

Pakunoda glances down at her feet. “Well,” she says slowly, “it’s a long story.”

Kurapika raises an eyebrow. Points to the empty restaurant.

Pakunoda smiles wryly. “We’ve only just opened,” she says mildly. The bell rings and the door swings open. Pakunoda raises an eyebrow and Kurapika concedes defeat with a small smile of his own.

He’s left standing awkwardly next to Pakunoda as the customer stares blankly at the menu.

A minute passes, and Kurapika wants to punch them. But he’s also not going to, because he’s a patient person, which means that no matter how annoyed he is, he has the self-restraint not to punch him.

This is also McDonald’s, so all bets are theoretically off.

He looks at Pakunoda, who seems to grow more irritated every passing second.

The customer shifts his feet, leaning forward and squinting at the menu choices for the thousandth time. “Uh, let's see…”

Pakunoda taps him on the shoulder, and his head whips towards her. “What?” he demands.

“You’ll have a medium-sized shamrock shake,” she snaps, entering it into the register with a few simple clicks. Kurapika narrows his eyes, carefully watching her fingers move and committing it to memory.

“You can't decide this for me!” The customer cries, face reddening in outrage. He stomps his foot out on the ground like a petulant child, and Kurapika scowls.

“It’s what your heart desires. There is no escaping the deepest wishes of your subconscious,” Pakunoda replies. Leaving the customer stunned. “No matter how hard you try to fight it,” she adds with a bittersweet expression.

“Watch carefully,” Pakunoda says, motioning Kurapika over, “this is one of our specials. I hope you learn fast.” She handles the machines with expert precision, fingers moving so fast Kurapika only knows what's happening because he’s worked with similar versions before. Gourmet Hunters often end up in very strange places (as do Blacklist Hunters, and Kurapika is both).

“Anything that isn't a drink, write it down and pass it through that slot. It'll be sent back throughout that window.” She purses her lips. “Don’t ask about the kitchen—that’s for the kitchen to know.”

“Okay…” He doesn't even want to know what sort of abomination is hiding behind there.

More customers start to flood the restaurant, an Kurapika lets out an involuntary groan. “Most of these are regulars,” Pakunoda assures. “They’re much faster.”

And they are. They smile when they see her and walk straight up, placing a hand on her idle one that lies on the counter. Pakunoda relays the orders to Kurapika in a clear voice, and he dutifully scribbles it down. The next two hours pass by rather fluidly, as regulars walk in and get their order with the occasional hiccups from an indecisive customer. It’s incredibly efficient, and so Kurapika mostly just prepares drinks and writes down order after order.

The rush dies down after a while, and Pakunoda looks at him, brows furrowed. “Take the register,” she says, “I’ll only be a moment.” Then she turns away and disappears into a room which Kurapika can only assume to be the break room. He feels a little miffed that she doesn’t trust him to take care of it, but then again, Pakunoda’s way of handling the register is definitely not something be replicated.

Kurapika very quickly realizes that his people skills need some work as he waits for customers to order, and then realizes that Pakunoda doesn’t have any people skills, so clearly, it’s not his horrible way of communicating.

Still, he plasters on what he hopes is a pleasant smile, and engages in a minimal amount of smalltalk, decisively trying not to ramble like he usually does when he talks to people.

The last person leaves, and Kurapika is one again amazed at how clean most customers try to keep the place. Except for a few stray napkins, most people have properly discarded their garbage. It’s a small act of human kindness that makes Kurapika smile.

That smile is quickly wiped off his face when he catches sight of a black stain on the floor.

Its red, beady eyes blink up at him. Its black little body scuttles forward like the soulless demon from hell it is.

A spider.

Now if Kurapika were seventeen, young and ruthless, he would have murdered the spider on the spot. But he's learned a few things since that time. He’s traveled around the world and learned different types of cuisine, and he’s refined his _Nen_ , as well as his bloodlust, for four years since then.

His eyes don't turn red anymore. He just stares at the spider, stares as it and commits its face to memory. _Make your move,_ he challenges.

The spider’s leg twitches.

Kurapika’s chain flashes out and squashes it right where it stands. He hits it again, grinding it’s body into black bits and spider blood. _Go to hell,_ he thinks viciously, and the spider’s remains burn.

The break room door creaks open. “Kurapika?” she asks. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he responds absentmindedly.

“So,” Pakunoda says, voice awkward but businesslike. “You can start working at the start of next week? By that I mean Monday.”

“That’s great,” he says dully. “Perfect.” There’s another spider in the corner. It’s making his blood boil; he has to _kill_ it—

“You'd be okay with the night shift from 11 pm to 5 pm?" He hears Pakunoda ask.

“Yeah. Sure. Night shift. 11 to 5.” He says distantly.

“Alright then,” Pakunoda says, writing something down. “You'll be working with Hisoka,” she says blandly. “A word of advice? Ignore him.”

“Hisoka?” He asks, glaring at the spider stealthily trying to creep past the corner.

“I believe you met him already? The one with the bright red hair.”

Kurapika nods without thinking.

Pakunoda sighs, “I’ll be off now,” she announces, and tosses something at him. Kurapika catches it, startled. He thanks his quick reflexes and looks down at the keys in his hand.

“Those are yours,” Pakunoda explains. “We’re closing up early, so you can leave after a bit of cleaning.” Her voice implies that she’ll know if he doesn’t, and Kurapika doesn’t doubt it.

The bell rings again, and Pakunoda is briskly walking out into the night.

“Oh, okay,” he says as the door swings shut. Pakunoda is already far away, way too far to hear him.

Too far to see him and the spiders. Kurapika scans the floor, daring any of them to come out of hiding.

_Wait, who had red hair again, wasn't it—_

The _clown_.

This time it better be a fucking joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked it!! comments are my lifeblood ill cry a river if you send me one
> 
> hopefully ill be able to stick to that biweekly schedule!! (probably not this is already a day late)
> 
> just a quick notice: there's about 20 chapters planned so far, plus the prologue (ch 1) and an epilogue!! so yeah, we're just getting started


	3. my whole world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whale Island. A small seafood restaurant by the shore. He has never heard of the place before. A boy named Gon Freecs. A boy that Killua will have to meet and charm and possibly laugh with, a boy will have to be killed quietly and silently, and without anyone knowing why. A boy Killua will have to willingly lead to his doom.
> 
> _Well,_ Killua thinks, _objectively, it’s just one more corpse._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *kicks door open*
> 
> GUESS WHO'S BACK
> 
> guys remember when i said i was gonna update bi-weekly? im so sorry but that is not... achievable... anyways. I'm alive, I'm always alive, and this fic will. like never be abandoned no matter how long I'm out. chapter three is pretty short and I'm not really sure i'll make it too long, so hey? who knows. 
> 
> enjoy!!

Killua wants to run away. He has wanted to run away from anything and everything but he has nowhere to run to. So he just sits on the couch with a sigh, and turns his head towards his father.

“You wanted me?” His voice is even.

“We’ve got a client for you.” Silva’s voice is curt and to the point. “You’re going to Whale Island.” He produces a letter from his pocket and hands it to Killua.

The blue light of the room doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and they make them look dull and glassy. Silva is staring at him with an unreadable expression.

_What does he want from me?_ Killua thinks. _Why am I doing this?_ He does not know.

One day, Killua knows, he will be the head of the Zoldyck family, and one day, he’ll be tasked with getting clients and sending off his siblings to some far-off places to commit murder. One day he’ll know everything, everything there is to know about killing.

Killua gets up and walks away.

Their exchanges are often like this; short and meaningless and devoid of anything and everything. He wonders if he prefers Illumi’s talks over this, which are far too filled with anything and everything, of future dreams and a perfect vision Killua can only follow. Illumi, in ways, is that perfect vision—creepily charismatic with a taste for murder that people would shudder to hear. But Killua does not shudder, does not speak, does not listen. Illumi petrifies him far too much to do anything else.

He walks into the basement. He stops for a few seconds in front of Alluka’s door. ‘Hey, Alluka,’ he wants to say, ‘I’ll be out again, and I’m sorry…’ He wants to read the letter with her, talk to Nanika and pretend that he’s fine. It’s almost terrifying how much he needs the both of them, but they’re the only things that makes him feel like part of him is actually fine. He raises his hands to open the door.  

Killua freezes. The Zoldyck manor is large, and Killua’s _En_ range has never been very wide, but he knows. _His_ aura has always been the kind that you can just _feel_ , because it is like the kind of venom that burns through everything, hissing as everything it meets disintegrates.

Illumi is back.

And Killua can _feel_ it, can already feel something inside him _changing_ , because there is no way to escape from this kind of venom, because it is everywhere. As much as Killua would like to deny it, Illumi is his world, because that is just what Illumi does. And he cannot run away from the world, especially when Illumi can spin himself into Killua’s life wherever he runs, like he’s weaving needles together, and can always, always bring Killua back home. His legs feel weak, and he shivers, feeling like he’s burning up, before falling to his knees. _He’s here he’s here he’s—_ Killua’s aura bursts out of him in a violent, heady rush. He wants to run away, he needs to run away, but how can he run away when even his _Nen_ doesn’t feel like home? His _Nen_ isn’t just aimless energy, and it’s not the comfortable indifference of his electricity. There is no comfort here.

There are just the needles here, there are just the blades that angle themselves every which way and surround his body in an amalgamation of glinting steel, hovering around his body in a perfectly deadly barrier. There are just the ghosts of murders, which are everywhere and they are everything; they are the blood that drips down his skin when his weak sympathies get out of control and the blades turn towards his heart, poised to strike. There is love here, but it is a love that makes Killua sick.  

And then there are the people that had an unimaginable type of love, once, the people that had smiled with everything that Killua cannot have—happiness and friendship and comfort—and now they are gone.

It is a terrifying thing to kill a human with all the humanity that you do not have.

He’s coming close, and Killua does not think.

He flees.

Running has always been a strong suit of his. But running _away_ is something that Killua doesn’t know how to do. He can never see Illumi again, but Illumi will always be there, will always be stronger, and Illumi will always find him, again and again and again.   
_I will always bring you back,_ he had whispered once, four years ago. _Our love is not something you can run from._

He opens up the letter as trees pass his vision. It’s not fast enough, not when these knives are still here, not when Illumi’s presence lingers as far as his eyes can see. Nothing will ever be far enough, but he can hide for now. And for now is good enough, will have to be good enough, because it is the only thing left. Killua flies past the testing gates, flies down the mountain, and he wishes he could fly away, because the sky might just be the one place Illumi can’t reach.

Finally, finally, his aura recesses. Killua takes in a deep breath. He’s in control now. He’s alright now. He kills his aura with _Zetsu_ , and in the shadows of a building, his eyes wander over a letter.

Whale Island. A small seafood restaurant by the shore. He has never heard of the place before. A boy named Gon Freecs. A boy that Killua will have to meet and charm and possibly laugh with, a boy will have to be killed quietly and silently, and without anyone knowing why. A boy Killua will have to willingly lead to his doom.

_Well_ , Killua thinks, _objectively, it’s just one more corpse._

 

* * *

 

There is actually no boat to Whale Island, and that makes Killua wonder why anyone would want to hire the Zoldycks in the first place. It would, after all, be much easier to hire a cheap assassin. Those are often easily found, and killing a child isn’t really that hard.

Then again, Killua thinks, assassins usually look deranged. Killua, by sheer virtue of being young, and probably the butlers, looks pretty normal. He sizes up the boat. It’s definitely not some kind of luxury cruise. Honestly, he could probably just threaten someone for a ticket, or just threaten the captain, but things like that are tiring. It’s not like they’ll catch him if they find him, anyways. So without anything else to do, he boards the boat, finds an isolated corner, and reads the letter over and over.

Why do they want an infiltration mission? It’s not like Whale Island can fight back, even if the kid gets murdered. Why would anyone who’s asking for murder want it not to look like murder? At that point in life, having an emotional connection to anything is worthless.

He stuffs the letter back into his pocket.

A horn is blown, and the boat starts to move across the water. The sun sets slowly across the horizon. The town disappears from his view, and eventually, even the mountain is just a speck in the distance. He waits throughout the night, when his vision is so murky that the Zoldyck mountain disappears, and then come morning, they are surrounded by nothing but the open sea.

_How fortunate_ , Killua thinks. Illumi is nowhere near him. If only life could always be this pleasant.

He reopens the letter. He reads it again.

Killua glances at the patchy splotch of white-out. It’s probably a name, but it’s so horribly hidden that he wonders why they even tried to cover it up. They seem to be someone so hopeless with responsibility that they try to hide from it. He guesses that they’d feel better if no one knew Gon was murdered, or if no one even knew his name. They also must be an idiot, because Zoldycks don’t take anonymous requests. _Coward_ , Killua thinks ruefully. They must be the lowest of the low, to try to absolve responsibility of this. Killua’s the one who’s actually murdering people, and even he’s not that sick.

He squints, and holds it up to the sunlight. The paper flaps in the air—thin, fragile—and the sunlight shines through. When he looks up, some of the light catches in his eyes, but the handwriting is visible. He moves the paper to block the sun. Even though the handwriting is scratchy, it’s decipherable.

_G-N-I-G._

_What a stupid name_ , Killua thinks. _What a worthless existence we both live_.

 

* * *

 

Gon Freecs, Killua muses, is _interesting_. That doesn’t cover even half of it, but it’s the most bland, objective descriptor Killua can come up with. Alternatively: Gon Freecs is a human, but that's just ridiculous, and it makes Killua look like he's desperate for apathy.

He's slightly shorter than Killua, tan skin and warm brown eyes, black hair spiked up with most likely a massive amount of hair gel. His green boots are ungodly bright, and they stick out against his mostly normal clothes.

Killua sighs as he watches from the trees. How utterly defenseless. He’d probably be totally okay with it if Killua just dropped out from the sky.

Gon spends most of his time training, forming numbers or any other shapes with his hands. But he’s not an Emitter. Killua’s seen him blow open a cave before, which is actually kind of sad, because it would’ve been a lot easier to just lead him into a dark cave or something and bury him alive. On the other hand, Enhancers are powerful, and by that line of logic, so is Gon.

It makes Killua _not_ want to meet him.

The people of Whale Island are in love with Gon; he’s basically a miracle to them. And his mother is well liked by the people as well, with her delicious seafood restaurant and disarming customer service smile. Killua had been there once, and he’d almost wanted to come back again, but then he realized that he’d probably run into Gon, and that wouldn’t be fun. He really dislikes the idea of meeting someone with such a magnetic type of personality.

_It would be so much easier,_ Killua contemplates, _to just—_

_To just kill him quick and clean_ , he thinks with a sick sort of introspection. Corpses are corpses; and then the nameless remain the nameless. Gon Freecs can remain a shitty extra in Killua’s awful life, and his only defining character trait can be his terrible fashion sense.

But Gon Freecs’ existence defies that, and so Killua has to figure out how to keep his semblance of sanity.

Killua swallows and creeps closer through the cover of trees. This is—definitely stalking, which is really creepy, and yeah, okay, he’s being stupid by doing this.  

But he can’t, he can’t just—

It feels like he’s holding that switch in his brain down, and suddenly he just doesn’t know how to kill anyone anymore. Gon Freecs is interesting, because he’s so in tune with nature around him, because his eyes are so incredibly perceptive and Killua doesn’t know how to deal with murder when Gon Freecs is a real-life _person_. If all infiltration missions are this bad—

Killua isn’t going to make it out alive.

There’s a kitsune-guma padding towards him now. It nuzzles up to him, and Gon hands him some fish from a basket. Killua buries his face in his hands and groans. Is—is he a _Disney princess?_

“I know you’re there,” someone calls out.

Killua jolts upright. He glances at Gon, who’s looking around with narrowed eyes. Perceptive, Killua thinks with a shiver.

“I know you’re there,” Gon says, again, “so you can come out now.”

Killua holds back a laugh. He can drop in from the sky and he can make friends with Gon or something, but—

He can just run, like always.  

He can run but never quite escape, because there’s an inevitability to this all, and Killua knows that there is no good end. Such is life.

Gon laughs, quiet but audible. Killua’s heart stutters. It’s such an open and honest kind of sound. He would like to hear it again, and maybe again, but by that time, Gon will already be dead, and Killua can’t ask a corpse to laugh for him.

“I’m not trying to attack you or anything,” Gon says. His brows furrow. “Unless you attack me. If you do that, you’ll be dead.”

Killua scoffs. As if. Gon turns around slowly, eyes wandering across the dense thicket of trees.                                      

Killua settles back beneath the cover of the trees, laying low. His heart is pounding, and he doesn’t know why.

One thing is becoming clearer and clearer, though: killing people has never felt so horrible. Missions are never this long. There’s never enough time for Killua to think.

He doesn’t want to think. He doesn’t want to ever think.

Because he sees in Canary’s eyes sometimes—can see the remorse and revulsion all mixed into a wavering smile as she gives him tea and tells him that it will calm his nerves. He sees it when Alluka looks at him, sometimes, sees her straighten her back and smile, wide and bright, and sees the disappointment she tries to hide. Thinking too much is what makes him break down in the first place, in the middle of a calm silence where no one can see him, until Canary finds him and drags him to the fireplace. Sometimes he bites his nails, only they stay as perfect as ever, because even his nails are reinforced. Sometimes he forgets what his nails actually are, and then he tastes blood on his tongue, and wonders how he can stand to spill so much blood even though every part of it is disgusting.

He knows that there is something wrong with him, and he understands that he was born and made to kill, and there is part of him that will always be demented, even if it’s on standby.

_Which is worse?_ Killua thinks. _Running away from the truth, or running from something you cannot run away from?_

He can feel the weight of the letter in his pocket.

_We are both cowards_ , he thinks, _Gnig and I. How awful of us._

Gon finally turns his head straight towards him, looking past the leafy cover, and if Killua was human, he would have met Gon’s eyes for a split second.

But Killua's not human, Killua's not normal, so he's gone before the Gon's eyes can even register his presence.

 

* * *

 

Gon is looking for him.

It’s actually frightening with how much determination Gon is looking. It’s impossible that he’ll find Killua in the first place, so why is he even trying?

“You know,” Gon says, “I fished out the lake monster when I was twelve.”

Killua huffs. He’s _certainly_ not a lake monster. And as if Gon could find him that easily. Killua has the whole island to hide, not just one measly lake.

“I haven’t found you yet, though!” Gon says cheerily. “You’re good at this—not even using _Zetsu_ , are you? It’d be too easy if you just did that.”

Killua does not respond. If he says anything, moves even the slightest inch, he knows Gon will find him.

“This is the most fun I’ve had in years,” Gon says. “Thank you for that.”

_It won’t be fun when you’re dead,_ Killua thinks miserably.

“I know you're out there somewhere,” Gon says, again. His eyes scan the trees. Again. Again. _Again_.

Killua will have to come down eventually. Eventually, he will have to meet Gon, and also murder him. Not yet, he thinks furiously. Not yet.

“You must be strong,” Gon says. “Are you here to kill me? Lots of people have tried to kill me.”

Killua goes still. _How does he know?_ Gon is so strangely trusting, yet so oddly perceptive.

“They usually don’t last this long,” Gon tells him. “They usually run away after I hit them.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Some creepy guys I once met have later tried to kill me, as well.” He grins, full-teeth. Killua thinks of the ominous smiles of the Cheshire Cat, always offering something strange, and wonders what it would be like to really fight Gon. “They taught me a lot,” Gon continues. “If you want to fight me, I don’t mind.” He smiles subtly, and for some reason, it terrifies Killua more than his Cheshire Cat grin.

“I’ll win.”

_Never pick a fight against an opponent you can’t win,_ Killua thinks. He can probably beat Gon if needed, but Gon’s eyes are shining with something unpredictable, and that’s never good. If it were Illumi, he’d tell Killua to run away. Assassins prize their life over anything else.  

His head is throbbing. This kind of danger is strangely enticing. Involuntarily, a smile tugs at his lips.

I can win this fight if I need to, Killua thinks. He pauses. _And I won’t get into a real fight anyways, so what’s the harm?_

There’s an absence of logic in there somewhere. Gon’s eyes are full of a kind of hunger for power. He’s filled with talent and he's extremely familiar with the nature of Whale Island. Killua can’t probably kill him without an actual fight.

Gon’s eyes turn towards him. They look at each other in stasis, and the world seems to fall apart. There is nothing but them in this empty space. _I can’t win this,_ Killua realizes. _I never could._

Killua could run away. He could leave and never look back. This empty space would disappear, and his world would be the same as it always was.

But right now—and he doesn't really _care_ anymore—Killua's not an assassin, not a threat, not _anything_. He's a sixteen year old kid with nothing but _life_ surrounding him, and for the first time, he wants to stay.

Here is where a new world begins.

Gon’s eyes sparkle in recognition. “I found you,” he murmurs, smile gracing his lips.

_You found me,_ Killua thinks, and smiles back.

The leaves rustle quietly. A soft breeze blows. Killua drops down from the tree, lands on the ground with a light, barely audible sound. Gon looks at him with an odd, gentle sort of expression. And Killua steps into the light.

 

* * *

 

Gon doesn’t ask who he is or where he’s from, just asks his name and lets the rest be. He pronounces Killua’s name like he’s suddenly going to be saying it a lot more often, and for some reason, that makes Killua’s stomach tighten.

“Killua,” Gon asks, “have you seen the entire island yet?”

“I’ve only really been to the forest,” Killua says. _Because that’s where you always were._ “I’ve been to the village… once, I think.”

Gon tilts his head. “Well,” he declares, “I guess I’ll just have to take you there!”

“Are you really…” Killua begins, trailing off uncertainly.

“Am I what?” Gon’s eyes look like they’re staring into his soul.

Killua swallows. “I don’t know, aren’t you going to ask why I’m here?”

“You’re not trying to kill me,” Gon says, and Killua freezes for an instant—heart thudding fast and loud and nerves feeling like they’ve been spiked into overdrive—before taking in a deep breath, “so why would I care?”

“That seems stupid,” Killua mutters. “There’s a definite loss of logic there.”

“If you’re really that insistent,” Gon says with an obliging smile, “Killua, what brings you to Whale Island?” The breeze is ruffling Gon’s hair, Killua notices. It’s cute.

Killua bites his lip. “I just wanted to try something new,” he decides.

Gon hums in acknowledgement. He doesn’t ask anything else.

“Our family runs a seafood shop by the port, and it's pretty famous around here!” Gon chatters, as they walk into the village. “Mito and Grandma handle all the preparations and they also manage the small restaurant, while I do the fishing!”

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Killua says. “Where _is_ your fishing rod?” The lake is too wide open for him to follow Gon there.

“Oh,” Gon says. “I just leave it at the lake. It’s not like anyone will steal it.”

That explains some things. But it still doesn't explain Gon's terrible fashion sense, or the weird way he smiles.

“So you live with your grandma and mom?” Killua asks, blunt. His grandmas are dead and his mom is deranged. He hasn’t seen Gon’s grandma yet, but Mito is definitely preferable to his mother.

“Mito’s technically my aunt, but I pretty much think of her as my mom, so? Yeah, it’s just us.”

“Oh,” Killua says. “Well, I guess you’re happy.”

“Sometimes,” Gon says. “Sometimes I am.”

_What’s that supposed to mean?_ Killua thinks. And then: _I hope Gon will get happier._

“You haven’t shown me around yet, idiot.” Killua says. “Better hold up your promise.”

The smile Gon gives is worth the uncertainness Killua feels in the pit of his stomach.

He starts by introducing Killua to some of the villagers milling around, visiting some scattered houses, and it’s awkward, but the surprising normalcy of it makes Killua feel content. The village loves Gon, and Gon, conversely, gives back to them with the biggest grin he can. Killua can understand how Gon becomes the people’s miracle. The villagers welcome Killua, as best as they can, and if they’re a little intimidated by his presence, it’s alright. Everything is fine.

And then Gon takes his hand as they reach the center of the village, pulling him across the streets, pointing him out to each and every shop with fervor, and this is _definitely not fine_ , because everything is new and it’s horrifyingly _wonderful_ and Killua doesn’t have a clue of what to do.

Everything sounds fine when it’s on paper, everything sounds fine when it’s objective, but Killua is right here and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this happy. _Is Gon happy? Is this making him happy?_ Killua thinks. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know _anything_ , except:

He’s not going to make it out alive.

 

* * *

 

 

Mito is at the counter, preparing fish with her knife like she always does.

“Hey, Mito!” Gon says.

“Hey, Gon,” Mito says, still concentrating on the fish. “Did you catch some fish…” She looks up and stops in her tracks. “Or something else?” she asks with a wry smile.

Killua raises his hand in a wave.

“Well, this is certainly new,” Mito says. “We don’t get a lot of kids coming to Whale Island.” She has the same warm eyes as Gon, Killua notices, only maybe they’re just a bit lighter. “I hope Gon’s been treating you nicely.”

“Yeah, he, uh, has,” Killua mumbles.

“Well, that’s good,” Mito says. “What’s your name?”

“Killua.”

“Huh, I don’t think I’ve ever met a Killua,” Mito says. She looks at him strangely. Killua shifts nervously. “Have I seen you before?” she asks. “I’ve almost certainly seen you before.”

“…No?” Killua had been wearing a wig, at that point in time. He also hadn’t spoken to her, so he’s probably in the clear.

She furrows her brows. “Maybe it’s your eyes,” she says, after some thought. “I just can’t help but feel like I’ve seen them before.”

Does he have distinctive eyes? Killua certainly doesn’t think so. They’re just blue. Plenty of people have blue eyes.

“And you, young man,” Mito says, with a hard glare, “are going to warn me beforehand.” Her knife slashes through the fish on her cutting board. “Dinner doesn’t magic itself into existence. Which you would know, if you bothered to learn to cook.”

Gon smiles, sheepish. “Sorry, Mito.”

“Go take a shower, both of you,” she orders. “We’re holding up the customers.”

The man waiting gives a hearty laugh. “Kids will be kids,” he says. “Listen to the lady, alright?”

Killua doesn’t answer, because 1) he’s sixteen, he knows showers are important, and 2) he still doesn’t know what being a kid means.   

“Of course,” Gon says, and then motions to Killua. “Mito’s house is a long way from here,” he says.

“This isn’t a very efficient trip,” Killua mutters.

“My planning skills are perfect!” Gon retorts. “How dare you.”

Killua smirks. “Then why are we running around in circles?”

“Well,” Gon says, “I didn’t know she was going to make us take a shower.”  
“I did,” Killua retorts. “You stink.”

“Sure,” Gon says. “Yet you stick around.”

Killua shrugs. “Most people who meet me run away screaming,” he says.

“Why?”

“‘Cause I’m strong.”

“I bet I could beat you,” Gon says, eyeing Killua hesitantly.

“All your strength is going nowhere,” Killua tells him, “since I can probably dodge all your attacks.”

“Then,” Gon says, “you’ll just make me stronger.”

“Nice way to look at it,” Killua says. “You’ll still be losing.”

“I’ll beat you eventually,” Gon says.

“And who says I won’t get stronger?”

“Who says _I_ won’t get stronger?” Gon asks, with a satisfied smile. “And Killua, you don’t even know what my _Nen_ does.”  
“You’re an Enhancer,” Killua says, “and you’re always doing that blast of energy.”

“And what about you, Killua?” Gon asks, blinking.

“Transmuter,” Killua responds. “And as for what I can do… you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

“I still don’t think you’re that fast,” Gon says. “You’re good at hiding, yeah, but you’re not that fast.”

_If only you knew,_ Killua thinks. “Underestimating me?” he asks.

“Well,” Gon says, smile growing on his face, “if you’re that adamant, I’ll believe you.” He stops, turning towards Killua. “I wouldn’t underestimate you,” Gon says. “I never have.”

The admission feels strange in the daylight. “We haven’t known each other for that long,” he says.

“Doesn’t mean anything,” Gon says. “I like being with you.”  
Gon’s eyes sparkle, and Killua suddenly is at a loss for words.

Killua flushes. “Um,” he says.

“Killua?” Gon says.

He blinks. “Yeah, what?”

Gon smirks. “If you're so fast,” he begins, spinning around, a lively glint in his eyes, “I’ll race you there!”

And then he’s off, leaving Killua sputtering like a fish out of water.

_I don’t even know where Mito’s house is_ , Killua wants to say, but his feet are already following, dashing closer and closer to Gon’s fading silhouette, and he can’t bother saying anything because he’s too busy laughing as he passes a bewildered Gon.

“Catch me if you can!” Killua hollers, when he’s managed to stop laughing, and then he doesn’t look back.

 

* * *

 

Mito cooks them dinner.

The thought of that makes him feel strange. At home, the butlers leave meals at the table, and Killua eats whatever, but Mito sits them down, and they both pray before eating. He looks around at the peaceful expressions on their faces, and their closed eyes. The silence is a mix of chilling and comforting. Gon’s lashes are surprisingly long, Killua notes. Those lashes starts to flutter open, and Killua looks at his plate.

“Thanks for the meal,” they both chorus, and dig in.

The back of his neck is heating up. He feels warm.

“I’m gonna take Killua to the top of the island,” Gon says, in between bites. “We might not be back until morning.”

“Alright,” Mito says. “Have fun.” Her eyes are kind.

Gon helps clean up the table. Killua shifts in his seat. Mito had insisted that he not help, and he wonders if it’s another etiquette thing he doesn’t know.

When Gon and him exit, he notices that night has fallen. “Wow,” Killua says, craning his neck up towards the sky. “Are there really that many stars?”

“You’ll be able to see them better,” Gon promises, “where I’m taking you.”  
They walk through the forest. The leaves cast shadows on the ground from the light of the moon, and even in the half-darkness, Gon is as bright as ever, eyes holding that mysterious sparkle.

“Whale Island is pretty,” Killua says.

“It is,” Gon agrees. “But once you’ve been there for long enough, it starts to lose all it’s mystery. The world’s so large, after all. It’s waiting to be explored!”

“You must like adventuring a lot,” Killua says. He doesn’t know what that feels like. But exploring Whale Island is fun, so maybe that’s what adventuring is for Gon?

“Yeah,” Gon says. “I left the island when I was twelve for a while, actually. I still leave every once in a while to see Bisky, but more often than not, I’m just training all alone.”

“Isn’t that boring?” Killua asks. Gon seems to like adventuring a lot.

“Yeah, it is.”

Killua frowns. “You—”

“But I have you now, Killua!” Gon says. He grins. “You’re amazing! ”

He can physically _feel_ himself flushing, and it’s that thought that makes him look away. “Idiot!” he says.

When he glances back to Gon, he’s still wearing that stupidly happy grin of his.

“I’m not that amazing,” Killua says, slowly. “After all, you’re here.”

“Look,” Gon says. “Here we are.”

_Oh_. The ocean is glittering as a reflection of the countless stars that dot the sky. Gon sits by the edge of the cliff, and Killua follows suit, laying down to look up at the stars. Neither of them say anything, for a while.

Killua stares up at the vast expanse of sky. He should be cold, out in this night air, but he’s not. And he should be doing _something_ , but he’s not. He glances towards Gon.

_I wonder if I could fight you_ , he thinks. It would be nice to spar with Gon every now and then, and explore Whale Island with him. And if Gon wants to adventure, maybe they could even go further. _The stars are mirrored in his eyes,_ Killua thinks, and then: _I wonder if I could kill you._

He freezes.

“Do you think dreams come true, Killua?” Gon asks.

“I don’t know,” Killua says. This dream isn’t coming true. He feels sick. It feels like the world is closing in around him again, suffocating him until he can’t breathe.

“I’ve never met my father,” Gon says. “His name is Ging Freecs, and he’s a great hunter, apparently. Do you know him, Killua?”

“I don’t.” Bile rises in his throat. Gon keeps talking, but Killua just barely listens. If he listens properly, he wonders just how horrible it’ll feel.  

“I've been thinking I want to travel again,” Gon says, turning to look at Killua. He meets Killua’s eyes, and maybe that’s the worst part of everything. “I want to see the world properly this time, Killua. I want to do it with _you_.”

Those eyes still have that sparkle.

_Kill him! Kill him now!_ he thinks, hands shaking, unable to think straight, only this time, nothing about it feels good. The letter feels heavy where it rests in his pocket. _I would like for you to kill a boy by the name of Gon Freecs,_ the letter had said.

Gon Freecs is right in front of him.

He meets Gon’s eyes. Electricity runs through his veins. His hair floats up from the static. Gon will just think it’s the wind.

“Do you want to come with me?” Gon asks.

“I…” Killua says, unable to respond. _You were inevitable_. His nails dig into the dirt. _I hate this_ , he thinks, nails turning into claws, _I hate this, I don’t want to, I don’t—_

“I do,” Killua says, shakily, hair settling back down. He blinks, trying not to cry, but his eyes are shiny. “I do want to travel with you.”  
Gon smiles.

Killua doesn’t want to kill him, or even hurt him. And so he won’t. _I could never win this_ , he realizes.

He closes his eyes. “I was just thinking,” Killua says with a smile, “that you’re really admirable.”

“Oh?”

“You know what you want to do,” Killua says. “I don’t know anything.”

“Then just come with me,” Gon says.

_I could follow you_ , Killua thinks. _If it was you, I could follow you forever._

“Okay,” he says. Nothing will stop them. They can run across the world together—

But he’s still running. And running is only temporary. Because Illumi will always bring him back.

“I—I have to go,” he says, drawing away from Gon. He can’t keep running like this. When he travels with Gon, he wants to do it without any fears. He stands up, preparing to leave. “There's something I need to do first.” There’s a ship leaving at midnight, Killua knows. He has about twenty minutes to get to the other side of the island, at most.

“Wait!” Gon clasps his wrist, eyes strong and bright with determination. “Let me come with you.”

“I have to do this alone,” Killua says. “I need to do it with my own strength.” _I want to learn how to live_ , he doesn’t say, _to be alive_.

Gon takes in a deep breath. “Promise me. Promise me you'll come back.”

“I will,” Killua says. “I’m going to do what I want to do, and I’m going to come back.”

“Pinky swear,” Gon offers, extending his hand.

Killua crouches down and links his pinky with Gon's, savoring the warmth of contact. He remembers doing this with Alluka, a long time ago. He promises to bring her with him, as well. Gon sings loudly, and Killua promises.

When he’s finished, Gon presses both their thumbs together. “Killua?” he asks, untangling their fingers.

“Yeah?”

Gon interlocks them properly this time, and squeezes Killua’s hand reassuringly. “You’re going to be just fine.” He lets go of his hand.

“I am,” Killua says, breathless. “I am,” he says, a little louder. He looks past the cliff and watches the ocean shimmer, countless stars reflected on the surface.

He takes a step backwards, and then another one, and then he turns and runs. As the wind flies past him, he clenches his fist. The ghost of Gon’s hand is still there, warm and reassuring, and Killua promises to come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gon: bro  
> killua: what bro  
> gon: tell the whole world that we’re bros  
> killua: *whispers* we’re bros  
> gon: why’d you whisper bro?  
> killua: because you’re my whole world bro  
> gon: b r o
> 
> these chapter titles are meaningful but they are also...not. 
> 
> find me at @sonnets-of-beauty!!


	4. words can't hurt me these shades are gucci

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leorio gazes at him coolly. “How much money do you make?” The question is blunt, like everything else he's said. His eyes are dark and almost menacing.
> 
> “What's it to you?” Kurapika snaps. “That's not any indicator.”
> 
> Leorio laughs. It's barely bitter, not even mean-spirited, and Kurapika’s stomach twists.
> 
> _or: the chapter from the summary_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick update, short chapter, i say to myself  
> me, a month later: fuck

Kurapika quickly realizes that working with Hisoka is even worse than it seems. He’d expected it to be crazy, of course, as he’d nervously shaken the man’s hand that first shift, and it was. He thinks he saw three children burst out into tears at the sight of him, and only three children walked in. And half of the people who entered turned and went right back to where they came.

Kurapika feels a bit sympathetic. He, too, would run away as soon as he saw Hisoka.

But that’s not possible, because it’s work, and Hisoka also is just someone nobody wants to mess with.

The first night on the job, suffice to say, is a very awkward and unenjoyable experience. The next few shifts are equally painful.

Unfortunately, the end result happens to be a lot _worse_.

Because after two weeks, Hisoka just straight-up vanishes. Like the freaky magician he is. The positive is that they actually get customers during the night shift now, only the negative is that Kurapika is the only one there handling all those customers, and he’s dealing with customer service and cleaning tables at the same time. _Such is the life of a fast-food worker,_ Kurapika thinks. He hasn’t even had time to really look at the place. At least he's been paid somewhat accordingly.

He mentions Hisoka’s disappearance to Pakunoda once, but she just looks at him with a raised eyebrow as if to say ‘ _you really thought he’d stick around?_ ’ and Kurapika realizes exactly why they needed a new employee.

Still, Pakunoda often stays around way later than her shift ends, and she handles the counter for him while he gets around to cleaning. Kurapika hasn't quite developed her knack for reading minds. And this is the way it’s been for the past week.  

Luckily enough, this is one of those nights.

“Why are your tables always so clean?” he groans, in a lull between customers, or more accurately, the closed sign they flip over between shifts.

“Ah,” Pakunoda says. “It’s been their way of helping me out, ever since the other one who worked with me left.”

“Like Hisoka?” he asks, not masking the distaste in his voice.

“No, not at all,” Pakunoda says. “Uvo is a bit clumsy, but he’s a good worker.”

“Then where is he?” Kurapika asks.

Pakunoda purses her lips. “He’s on… a business trip,” she replies. “With the boss.”

“Chrollo, right?”

“Um, yes,” she says. “Chrollo.” The word sounds unfamiliar on her lips.

He smiles at her. “I don’t know what I’d do without you helping me.”

“It’s not like I have anything else to do?” Pakunoda says. “This is my entire life right now.”

“Why aren’t you the manager at this point?” Kurapika asks. “You seem like you could do anything.”

“I am the manager,” Pakunoda says. “Of all the McDonalds’ in Yorknew. I just still take a shift.”

“It really seems like you could afford to employ more people,” Kurapika says.

“Not here,” Pakunoda says. “This is a special case.”

Kurapika makes a sound of acknowledgement as he switches the sign to open. 11:30. Five hours and thirty minutes. “Are you guys all important?” he asks.

“You could say something of the sort,” Pakunoda says. Her lips twitch into a wry, bitter type of smile. “You _would_ say that.”

Kurapika doesn’t know how to respond.

“I actually had to fight to get you in here,” Pakunoda says. “Which includes getting the application process out in the first place.” She sighs. “Chrollo isn't exactly open to new employees. He only trusts people with… certain specifications.”

“And I'm not good enough to meet them?” Kurapika asks, stung.

“Trust me,” Pakunoda says, somber, “you are too good for them.”

And Kurapika is left to puzzle that out.

His eyes flick up as the bell rings, and two walk through the door, eyes casting around the empty restaurant.

“Why’s it so empty?” he hears one mutter. Kurapika sees Pakunoda straighten up and flash a stiff smile.

“Welcome,” she says. Kurapika holds back his frown and takes his broom, sweeping up the last of the garbage. He’s carrying it over to trashcan when he hears a shout from the counter. Quickly, he disposes of all of it, glancing back to the counter where Pakunoda’s smile is growing more strained by the second.

“I said,” Pakunoda says evenly, “we don’t have the squid ink burgers here.”

“But they’re part of McDonald’s!” the guy says, and the other next to him nods. “And you’re McDonald’s.” They both smirk like they’ve won an argument.

“Look,” Pakunoda says, smile wiped off her face. She sighs. “That’s only in a few select areas. Try the location over by the port. Thank you, have a good day.”

The guy leans over the counter with an ugly type of expression. “You’re such a rude lady,” he drawls. “Did anyone ever teach you manners?” Pakunoda frowns.

Kurapika twitches. The chains dangle on his fingers. _I’ll teach you_ , he thinks viciously.

He leans even further into her personal space, saying, “I’m sure your boss wouldn’t be too happy with this horrible customer service…”

“No,” she says, monotone. “He would not.”

It all happens in the span of a second. Their smiles grow wide and ugly, and then Pakunoda draws back. Before anything else can happen, Pakunoda’s fist connects with the guy’s face, and a solid sort of sound reaches Kurapika’s ears before it’s quickly covered up by a shriek.

Pakunoda deadpans, “However, I’m sure he’d be delighted if I beat you black and blue.”

They guy holds his hand to his nose and shrieks again when he finds out it’s bloody.

She cracks her knuckles, eyeing the both of them coolly. “Thank you,” Pakunoda tells them. “Have a good day. I hope you can find those squid ink burgers.”

They take the hint and run out of the glass doors, which sound in their wake with a dull thud.  

“Don’t worry,” Pakunoda says, “There’s no blood on the floor.”

“That’s good,” Kurapika says, chains drooping uselessly from his fingers.

“You might want to hide those chains,” Pakunoda comments offhandedly. “It’s not exactly a welcoming sight.”

“Yeah,” Kurapika says, and they disappear with _In_. “Did you ever learn martial arts?”

“I learned how to punch someone,” Pakunoda says. “I can’t say I’m exactly strong, but I’ve met my fair share of douchebags.”

She cracks a smile, and Kurapika smiles back.

“Wow,” Pakunoda says, “that is… um, a calm reaction.” She shrugs with a sideways look, smile still on her face. Her eyes are smiling too, Kurapika notes.

“I would’ve punched him, too,” Kurapika says.

She snorts. “Uh, yeah, I know. I mean…” She shakes her head after a moment, climbs up on the counter and slides down. “The tables are clean. Have fun with the rest of your shift.”

“Pakunoda?” Kurapika asks, before she leaves.

“Yeah?”

“Do you like it here?”

“I do,” she says, not missing a beat. He can’t see her face because she’s turned towards the door. “It’s not the best place—it’s never been the best place—but it’s home. I can’t leave it.”

Then she pushes open the glass door with careful precision, grabs the handle on the outside, and closes it gently.

Normally, Kurapika knows, when the doors open, a gust of wind fills the restaurant, sending shivers up his spine. And when they swing shut, that same wind flies in again, leaving the room cold and unfriendly. But no wind comes this time.

He climbs over the counter, and sees his reflection. The cash register is in pristine condition.

He looks at the doors. The glass is clear, the metal handle shiny even in the dark. The walls are bright and glistening. He searches around for the aura that made him feels so wary in the first place. It’s barely there. If it’s coming from anywhere, it’s either very near him, or it’s just him.  

 _There is a reason this place is so well kept_ , Kurapika realizes.

He stares out into the dark. Kurapika mentally reminds himself to thank Pakunoda the next time she helps him out.

 

* * *

 

People pass and go, but the number of customers is low enough that he can clean tables with relative ease. Kurapika looks up at the 1:14 written out in bright red digits on the wall. He’s lucky he’s on the night shift, Kurapika thinks. His sleep schedule is fucked, but it’s just as Pakunoda says; he has nothing better to do.

He’s just wiped off the last table when the bell jingles again. Kurapika suppresses a groan. He’ll clean the tables really properly when this is over.

“What can I get you?” he asks, dumping the wipe in the trash can.

Silence.

Kurapika turns around. “I know there’s nobody at the counter,” he says, snappish. “It’s just me.”  
There’s a shadow of a smile on the stranger’s face. “Well,” they say, “a soda?”

“Attainable,” Kurapika says, jumping over the counter in a half-spin. “Coke, Fanta, or…?”

“Just a Coke,” the stranger says. His voice is dull. “Actually, make that two. Of the bottle things.”

“Anything else?”

The stranger shrugs. “I don’t really trust the food here,” he says.

Kurapika smiles a little at that. “Okay,” he says, and grabs the bottles from the fridge, tossing them up in the air.

To his surprise, the stranger catches them deftly, not even faltering.

“Have a good day,” Kurapika says.

“Oh, no,” the stranger says, with a odd tone. Kurapika tenses. “I’ll just, uh, stay here?” He scratches his head. “If that’s okay with you.” He fishes out a few crumpled bills and places them on the counter. “Keep the change, I’m too tired to carry around a bunch of stupid coins.”

Kurapika looks at him. The stranger’s glasses don’t look particularly sinister, and he’s dressed casually, a hint of stubble on his chin. He’s bony and haggard, with giant bags under his eyes. He probably won’t cause any problems.

“My shift isn’t over yet,” he says. “And I couldn’t kick you out even if I wanted to.”

The stranger drops into the seat by the door with a sigh. He spins the cap open, and fizz bubbles up. Without flinching, he takes a big gulp.

Kurapika has never personally been a fan of the uncomfortable fizzy feeling, especially in large quantities, but whatever. He taps his foot, and glances back at the stranger.

“Hey,” he says.

The stranger looks at him, eyes steely. “Yeah?”

“If someone asks for me, tell them I’m out,” Kurapika says, trying not to stumble over his words, because wow, that was a surprise. As he walks to the break room, he realizes, with horror, that half the bottle is already gone. At least the fact of that takes his mind off the hard edge to his eyes.

They are the type of eyes that have seen things.

Kurapika would know, after all. He has seen things. He has seen eyes.  

The break room is a lot warmer than the actual restaurant, Kurapika notices. He drops down onto a chair with a yawn. There’s a bookshelf next to him, he realizes. The archives are somewhere else, he knows, but Pakunoda hasn’t told him where they are yet. He’ll just have to earn her trust. Then again, she might help him out if he told her what he was really working at McDonald’s for.

He considers it for a minute.

As sad as it is, Pakunoda calls this place home. It doesn’t feel right to tell her yet.

His eyes droop shut. The stranger seems trustworthy enough. And Kurapika knows the sound of the bell by heart. No one will leave without him knowing.

He just needs to rest his eyes a little. He thinks back to the tiredness of his eyes when he was staring at his iPad for days on end. _It’s just like that,_ he convinces himself, _only it’s the lights. I’ll just rest my eyes for a minute or two._

His body feels heavy. Kurapika relaxes into the chair. There’s so much he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if the bell will wake him up, or if the stranger will cause trouble, or if Pakunoda would help him if he needed it.

He hopes, for Pakunoda’s sake, that there are no soda spills. At the very least, that’s about the most of what the stranger can do with his two bottles of Coke.  

 _Patience_ , he thinks. _I’ll find everything out in time._

Kurapika lets his eyes fall shut.

 

* * *

 

There are no soda spills. But Kurapika wakes up almost an hour later with a shriek and has to try to not look disheveled in about five seconds before sprinting out to check for damage.

Or robbers. Or really just about anything, because a lot of stuff can happen in an hour that, thankfully, has not happened. When he sees the stranger slumped over on the table, he breathes a sigh of relief. It takes about two seconds to realize that having someone blacked out at the table is probably a bad thing.

He huffs a laugh. The man may be tall, but he’s all skin and bones. Kurapika could carry him if need be.

He takes the time to comb his fingers through his hair, checking his reflection in the counter. He doesn’t look nice, but he’s okay. Who’s going to care about looking perfect in McDonald’s, anyway?

Kurapika hums into the empty air, filling the absence that seems to hug the room.

The stranger raises his head. “Hey, he mumbles, before dropping his face back on the table. Kurapika’s shoulders tense, waiting for a thud, but nothing happens. He moves cautiously towards the stranger, looking around for any signs of people before discarding his stupid uniform. Well, at least the apron. Kurapika can’t fathom why he’d need that, unless he spilled something on himself, which he’s not clumsy enough to do, and there’s not even anything for him spill.

Right. About that. He eyes the empty soda bottle in the stranger’s hand and the other empty one left in the corner.

With a painstakingly awkward wave, Kurapika drops down on the seat. The stranger’s eyes him with disinterest, or he could just be looking at the wall behind him. His fingers glide up and down the soda bottle aimlessly, and he’s mumbling words that Kurapika can’t be bothered to make sense of.

 _Fuck_ , Kurapika thinks, because that’s where his mind takes him, _is he drunk?_ He takes a moment to process the absurdity of the situation. He's sitting across from a total stranger who is possibly, inconceivably, drunk off his ass (and how the hell do you get drunk off of _soda?)_ , and they're just sitting in McDonald’s on a Tuesday night. Kurapika looks at the wallet laid out on the center of the table. His name is Leorio Paladiknight, he notes, looking at the ID. This is also possibly illegal, and Kurapika doesn’t fancy staying in prison, but he’s bored and as sad as it is, this random stranger is the only exciting thing in his life right now.

He snorts.

Kurapika’s life is an absolute mess. He wonders if this is all a hallucination brought on from sleep deprivation.

 _What is my life,_ Kurapika thinks.

Thinking about it logically, the stranger— _Leorio_ , he corrects in his mind—is also probably just tired. On one hand, this is good, because Kurapika is nowhere near awake enough to have a proper conversation, but he’s also not awake enough to get through the rest of his shift, and some noise would probably wake him up.

He groans, lays his head on the table, and rubs at his eyes.

If he really wanted to keep himself awake, he could probably go on a spider-killing spree, but at the moment, they’re out of sight, and he really doesn’t feel like actively searching for them. One does pass him by, though, and he spears it without a second thought.

“Look,” Leorio says, incredibly slowly, “I'll leave if you—if you want me to.” Leorio presses a hand to his head, waiting.

“No, uh,” Kurapika says, “I'm fine.”

“We’re both pretty pathetic like this, aren't we?” Leorio says with a self-deprecating laugh, fingers trailing off of the bottle.

Kurapika stills. “You think I'm pathetic?” he asks softly.

Leorio regards him quizzically. “Yeah, of course, you're working in McDonald’s. I mean,” he adds, looking around, “it's slightly nicer, but.” Leorio frowns. “I said we, right? Not you.”

“I'm not pathetic,” Kurapika says. _Neither is Pakunoda._

Leorio gazes at him coolly. “How much money do you make?” The question is blunt, like everything else he's said. His eyes are dark and almost menacing.

“What's it to you?” Kurapika snaps. “That's not any indicator.”

Leorio laughs. It's barely bitter, not even mean-spirited, and Kurapika’s stomach twists. “You're that kind of person,” Leorio says. “There are lots of things you haven't seen.”

“And there are things you don't know about me!” Kurapika cries.

“Money is everything,” Leorio says, eyes staring at him. “Whether you like it or not.”

“There's more important things,” Kurapika counters. “Like honor. Clearly, you've never heard of it.”

“Sure, that's what they all say.” Leorio drawls. “Doesn’t change the fact that you can’t make a decent living out of this sort of pitiful occupation.”

 _Pitiful?_ Kurapika thinks. He thinks of the of the way that Pakunoda stays behind and helps out, of the way this place is becoming oddly familiar, and the strong way that she holds herself. _This place is anything but._

He leans over the table, hands gripping the edges tightly. These are the tables that Pakunoda cleans day by day, edges rounded so that no customer hits a sharp edge. His hand curls around the side easily. “Look at me,” he growls. Leorio flicks his eyes towards him. He looks bored out of his mind. Kurapika stares at him, eyes slowly growing redder and redder, waiting until Leorio finally looks at him like it means something.

His eyes blaze scarlet. “I’ve got no idea who you are, but if you think you can just waltz in here and lecture me about my life, you thought _wrong._ ” _Leorio is a nobody_ , Kurapika tries to remind himself, _and he’s probably just some idiot hanging out at McDonald’s and buying soda and wasting his life—_

He still wants to throttle him right now, grab his collar and smash his head on the table, but he just grips the table harder, trying to stop trembling and cool down.

Leorio’s hands are out of his sight, probably places on his lap. His eyes glaze over. They are looking far, far past Kurapika, and it hurts in a way he can't explain. “I asked if you wanted me to leave,” he says.

Kurapika wonders if he’s being purposely difficult. “I’m not entertaining you,” he says with a sigh, and stands up.

“Wait,” Leorio says.

 _No,_ Kurapika thinks, with dread, but his resolve is a terrible, terrible thing, so he turns towards Leorio and asks, “What?” in a way that is a lot less sharp than he’d wanted it to be.

Leorio bites his lip. “If you’re not careful, pride, or honor, or whatever will get you killed.”

Kurapika pauses. “I guess,” he says. That, at least, is true. He knows just how many people the Phantom troupe has killed. “But it’s for a good cause. I can’t _live_ knowing I’m not doing things right.”

He receives a snort in response. “Does—does anyone even say things like that anymore?” Leorio asks between short, shuddery laughs. “It’s so stupidly heroic.”

“But I’m not a hero?” Kurapika says.

“Like you wouldn’t go run into a burning building and save everyone,” Leorio says.

“I—” Kurapika begins, and then realizes that he has ran into a burning building, and he’d do it all over again if he found another spider.

Leorio laughs. “Wait, did you actually run into one? How are you not dead?”

Kurapika freezes for a moment. He is the only one that is not dead. He tries to think of an answer, but no words form, and he just stays there, silent.

“You’ll turn into a tragic hero someday,” he dimly can hear Leorio ramble, “and you might save damsels in distress, but you’re just one person, and that’s never enough. You can’t be everywhere at one time, and that’s just going to drive you crazy…”

He falls silent when he notices Kurapika’s lack of response.

Slowly, Kurapika sits back down. “I don’t understand you,” he says.

He looks at Leorio with an almost helpless expression. Leorio stares back at him for a very, very long time.

“Maybe I don’t understand you, either,” Leorio says, so quiet Kurapika barely understands.

But he does.

“I’m sorry for assuming tha— _things_ —about you,” Kurapika says, haltingly. “This probably wasn’t fun.”  
“It was interesting,” Leorio says. He drums his fingers on the table, turning his head to look around the restaurant. His fingernails are short and stubby and cut in a jagged type of way. He sighs. “Why do you love this place so much?”

Kurapika follows his eyesight, looks at the place around him, touches the side of the table. “I don’t,” he says. “I actually hate it. But other people love it.”

“And you care needlessly about those other people,” Leorio mutters.

“Not really,” Kurapika says. “I just respect them.”  
At that, Leorio’s lips curl upwards. “You’re making a really strong case for hating this place,” he says, half-joking. “Why?”

 _Well_ , Kurapika thinks, _this is the institution that harbors a group of bandits who decided to burn down my entire village and exterminate our world famous restaurant._

Leorio looks at him. Kurapika can’t decide whether he wants Leorio looking at him or away from him, because both of those options make him feel weird. If Leorio looks at him, it’s like his eyes are boring holes through his heart. If he doesn’t, it feels like Kurapika isn’t being listened to.

 _Do I want him to listen to me?_ Kurapika asks himself. It dawns on him that Leorio is someone that has wormed his way into importance in the span of a few hours. _This is a terrible idea,_ Kurapika thinks, but apparently he doesn’t care, because he opens his mouth and words are tumbling out of it before he can even think of stopping.

“I grew up in a forest. I mean, it’s definitely not a forest you would’ve heard of, but—” Kurapika clears his throat, looking away from Leorio’s gaze. “Anyways, we were world-famous for a while. No one knows us now, but we used to be the renowned Kurta restaurant chain.”

He glances back to Leorio, shifting in his seat. “Um, that’s my last name. Kurta.”

Leorio looks puzzled—possibly thinking something along the lines of _why am I listening to this idiot talk about his hometown_ —but he says nothing, just motions for Kurapika to go on.

The gesture is worth much more than words.

“It’s a pretty place,” Kurapika says. “It’s home. I grew up there when I was seven, but—” He swallows. “Then they all died.”

Leorio lets out a soft gasp.

“I’m not looking for pity,” Kurapika says.

Leorio nods. “I know,” he says, and Kurapika believes him.

“Our forest burned to the ground. There’s nothing left there anymore.”

“Is that why you—”

“Ran headfirst into a burning building? Yeah—yeah, it is.” Kurapika shakes his head. “That probably sounds so stupid, honestly.”

“No,” Leorio says, “I get it.” He slumps forward on the table, nestling his head in his arms. “I’ll keep listening, but I might just fall asleep.” He shrugs non-apologetically.

Kurapika yawns. “Can’t blame you,” he says.

“What was your village like?” Leorio mumbles, and Kurapika smiles. It’s a much happier memory than the Phantom troupe will ever be.

“Okay,” Kurapika says, preparing himself, “okay. This is seven years of my life—why am I doing this?—so it’s going to be long.”

“I’m half-asleep already,” Leorio responds, “and it’s because I’m listening.” A smile tugs at his lips. “Kurta is a nice name, but what’s your first name?”

“Kurapika.”

“Kurapika, huh? You sound so much more normal like this.”

“I’m making this up on the spot, I refuse to bother with fancy language,” Kurapika says. “Anyways, I’m skipping around with things I remember so, uh, right. This one person appeared out of nowhere one day…”

Kurapika rambles and watches the smile on Leorio’s face grow, watches his eyes flutter shut. He shrugs to himself, and closes his eyes as well, settles back on his seat, and continues talking, voice filling up the empty restaurant.

“Do you understand me now?” he asks in between stories. There is no response. Leorio is a noiseless sleeper, and the quiet is almost unsettling. But there’s the faintest sounds of breathing throughout the room that clears the room of silence.

He wonders why Leorio was so quick to give in, after acting like he knew everything. He wonders what it is that Leorio sees when he wakes up and looks at the world.

 _I’ll ask him,_ Kurapika thinks, but then he looks at how relaxed Leorio is, and leaves it be. There are so many things he still has to tell, so many things he wants to know, but today is enough. _Patience_ , Kurapika reminds himself. Soon enough he’ll be happy and free. He just has to wait for it.

The thought makes him feel strange.

He shoves his hands in his pockets, fumbling for his phone, and stows that thought away for another day.  

It’s 4:05 on the dot. They’ve been talking for almost two hours, even if the beginning was mostly Leorio’s quiet mumbles to himself. Kurapika rises from his sitting position, and stretches. He grabs a mop and a bucket from the break room, and other cleaning supplies.

Kurapika glances up at the clock. In hindsight, he really didn’t need to look at his phone. But that doesn’t really matter now.

 _Alright_ , he thinks. _Time to get to work._

 

* * *

                                

Leorio starts to stir about half an hour later.

“Oh, he says, when he spots Kurapika wiping down a table. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Kurapika mutters, and finishes cleaning the table before he moves to put his cleaning supplies back into the closet.

Cleaning doesn’t really take too much concentration. It leaves Kurapika thinking about far too many things, and now his mind is burning with questions. But his throat is also strangely dry as he walks back into the restaurant. Leorio had apparently taken the minute to wake up properly.

An awkward silence passes between them.

“...So,” Leorio says. “I should get going.” He picks up his wallet from where it’s lying on the center of the table.

“Wait!” Kurapika says. It totally doesn’t sound desperate and his voice doesn't crack at all. He can feel himself flushing and that only makes it worse.

“I still don’t—still don’t understand you,” Kurapika manages to say. “Why do you think that money’s everything?”

“Money's what the world runs on,” Leorio says. He pauses. “Maybe not for you, but it’s what my world runs on,” he corrects. “It's what I need.”

“I worked for a bunch of rich people a few years ago,” Kurapika says. “I needed it so I could get something.” He frowns. “I just didn't like that you called me—and the people who work here—pathetic,” he admits. It sounds so stupid.

Leorio lets out a bark of laughter. “I’m the pathetic one,” he says with a self-deprecating smile. “But yeah. If I don't have enough money, I'll never be able to do what I want. I know why I want it, I know what I'm going to do with it, and it's important to me. Of course it's everything. That's why no one can tell me I'm wrong.” His voice has grown louder by the end, and he’s looking at Kurapika with a challenge in his eyes.

“What’s the thing you want?” Kurapika asks.

“Your shift is almost over, isn’t it?” Leorio asks.

“Uh—yeah, in about ten minutes,” Kurapika says. “I just have to finish cleaning up for the next person and that’ll only take me like five—” He glares pointedly at Leorio. “Don’t change the subject! What’s the thing you want so badly?”

“Okay, okay,” Leorio says. “I’ll answer.” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I had a dream,” he says, “and I would use any means to achieve it. And maybe you’re right, maybe money isn’t everything, but if it isn’t, then everything I’ve done will be for nothing and I _can’t_ do that.” His voice is raw and hoarse.

“That’s not a straight answer.”

“It was never going to be,” Leorio replies, smile still unhappy.

“Oh.” Kurapika says, shoulders sagging.

“It’s nothing against you, Leorio says. He looks towards the clock again.

“Well, goodbye,” Kurapika mumbles. This doesn’t feel right at all. _Patience_ , he tells himself, again. _You’ll see him again._

Leorio pauses, hand hovering over a door handle. “Kurapika,” he says, voice soft. “Look at me.”

Kurapika looks at him.

Leorio’s eyes are shining, almost like he’s about to cry. His smile feels bittersweet. “What’s a dream worth if fighting for if the effort is worthless?” he asks, almost more to himself than anyone else. His voice is vulnerable in the open space.

Before Kurapika can think of an answer, Leorio disappears into the night, the wind whistling in the air, the clatter of the doors the only reminder that someone once stood there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the real mystery: does leorio actually own gucci shades
> 
> it's been almost a month! i would've posted this earlier, but I wanted to have it properly beta'd, but still, sorry for the wait!
> 
> tumblr is sonnets-of-beauty like usual, and comments are my lifeblood (also like usual).


	5. life is bad but at least I'm cute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Those consequences of yours, Alluka begins, do you—_
> 
> **Do I what?** Nanika asks, when Alluka doesn’t continue.
> 
> _Do you know what it means to kill someone?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!! i really wanted to get this out quickly... so here it is!! there's going to be an explanation about a few things at the end so please stay tuned for that, but without further ado, enjoy!!
> 
> a few things I want to say, just in case it's not 100% clear: nanika's thoughts are bold, alluka's are italic. this is the first chapter w/ pov switches, and alluka and nanika's pov will always be weirdly fluid, and yes, that last scene is from killua's pov

Alluka’s been reading the same book for what feels like centuries. And that is never a good feeling. She lifts her head from its bent position, and stretches, uncorking her legs from their crisscross. Alluka yawns, staring at the book without reading any of the words. She's probably memorized every single word in that book by now. It’s been so long…

 **Three months,** Nanika counters. **Not centuries.**

Every day that Killua isn't there feels like a lifetime, though. It's not like she has anything to do when he's not there. Instead, she just wastes away in her cell with Nanika, dreaming of the outside. She hasn't been outside in years, and as such, the only thing she can do inside is read and try to learn more about everything. And Killua, while she stays locked up, is trained by Illumi and sometimes his father, learning how to kill with deadly efficiency. Being a Zoldyck has never been easy.

It's strange that both of them have turned out so well, then. _Despite all that Illumi has done, Killua has never broken,_ Alluka thinks proudly. And neither has she.

Some would think that with Nanika, she could leave anytime she wished, whether Killua felt like it or not. It's easy to think she'll leave whenever she wants to, as long as she has Nanika’s immense strength, but the truth of it is that living in one body is harder than you first think. It's taken so long for them to exist as two wholly separate consciences, and they've only recently learned how to manage full conversation instead of blindly projecting feelings at one another.

Alluka would explain it like this: she's one whole, Nanika’s another whole, and then when you smash them in one body, they are one whole and a half, not quite separate enough to be two, but not quite synchronized enough to be one. And it's this damning half-state that makes Alluka completely unable to use Nanika’s powers. She cannot stay separate enough to wish upon Nanika, and they cannot sync so perfectly together that they can use both sides of them at the same time.

Killua would tell her not to worry about that kind of thing, Alluka knows. Killua never likes it when she's worried. She wishes she were better at staying calm, but she has so much time to herself that all she can do is think. Killua does not worry because he has no time to. And unlike her, he can wish upon Nanika, even though he's way too nice to do that to her. Unlike her, Killua goes outside when he wants to, and unlike her, Killua kills when he is ordered to.

Both of them are locked under their own circumstances. Alluka refuses to begrudge him for that.

Alluka thinks that she would wish for many things. She would wish for Killua’s safety. She would wish to be free of Zoldyck manor. She would wish to travel and explore the world. She would wish for so many things.

But Killua has never wished for any of that. There would never be any consequences were he to wish something from Nanika, but Killua steadfastly does not wish. There is no price if Killua makes a wish. And yet, Alluka knows he will not. He will dream, and run, and press his hands against his forehead and cry, but he does not wish on Nanika for something better.

Perhaps it is that very reason Killua’s wishes do not cause pain.

 **I can hear half of your thoughts, you know,** Nanika says.

 _Only half,_ Alluka counters.

 **True.**  Alluka can’t read what she’s feeling, and she frowns. Nanika’s agreement is suddenly depressing.

 **But that is not the reason Killua’s wishes do not cause pain,** Nanika tells her. **It is some of it, but not all of the truth.**

 _Then what is it?_ Alluka asks.

Nanika is silent. She never likes to talk about her wish granting, and it's really only through a lot of pestering that she even answers. Alluka guesses that this is one of the situations where Nanika refuses to talk about her wish granting. After all, It's the part of her that often feels the most disconnected. Both of them have different ideas on wishes. And both of them have different feelings about freedom.

Sometimes, Alluka cannot understand how Nanika has become an intrinsic part of her. Nanika is rough where Alluka has smoothed out the edges, and she is sharp where Alluka is vulnerable. She is content staying idle, and Alluka wants nothing more than adventure.

But Nanika cares about Killua with the fiercest passion. She does not care for adventure, but she learns, amassing words and feelings and auras and memories from the things she reads. Adventures are as much about learning as they are about freedom. At the very least, neither of them are content with staying the same. Those are the most important things, and it's why they've learned to live as they do.

 **Why do you want to explore so badly?** Nanika asks. **What makes it so enticing?**

 _I've been here all my life,_ Alluka tells her. _And it's not because I chose to. I want to see the world and decide what I want to do on my own._

 **The world outside is too dangerous for me,** Nanika says. **But I'll try to grant you that wish.**

Alluka sighs. Wish-granting sounds so amazing, but she knows things always come with prices. She closes her eyes, thinking. What will happen when she's finally able to wish on Nanika? The book by her side has been long-forgotten, and it's only as Alluka lies flat in the floor that she remembers it. She pulls it out from underneath her arm and tosses it to the corner of the room.

 _Hey,_ Alluka prods, tentative.

**Yeah?**

_If you give me a wish,_ she asks, _will it be like Killua? No pain for others? No consequences?_

Nanika is silent again. After a long time, she says, **I… don't know. Killua has been the only exception.**

_Why?_

**Because he cares,** Nanika says, firm. **Killua cares, unlike anyone else.** She quickly realizes what she just said. **Oh, not you, you’re fine, but I’m just not sure if exceptions will work for more than one person—**

 _That’s not what I’m concerned about,_ Alluka assures. She frowns. _Do you care?_

**About what?**

_People._

**Well,** Nanika says, **I care about you. And Killua.**

 _No,_ Alluka says, scrunching her brows, _not like that._

**Then like what?**

She chews on her lip. It’s not often that things become hard to explain to Nanika. Or maybe things are always hard to explain, and Alluka has never pushed far enough. If Nanika becomes a stranger to her, who else does she have? And if Nanika becomes strange enough, what would happen to the both of them? But that’s not the current problem here.

 _Those consequences of yours,_ Alluka begins, _do you—_

 **Do I what?** Nanika asks, when Alluka doesn’t continue.

_Do you know what it means to kill someone?_

Nanika freezes. Then, carefully, she says, **What it means? Other than their death? Yeah.**

 **Of course, not in the way you might,** Nanika sighs. **But I do know what it means.**

It's not the answer that scares Alluka as much as the fact that she can't understand the answer.

 _What makes me that different from you?_ she asks, exasperated.

 **Everything,** Nanika says. **I know the way you look at the world. You will never be like me.**

 _I'm a Zoldyck,_ Alluka tells her. _I know what it means to kill someone, even if I hate it._

 **You are about as Zoldyck,** Nanika says, **as I am human.**

Well. That's utterly baffling. _Is that a good thing?_ Alluka asks.

**I don't know.**

_You seem to know everything about me,_ _though._

 **But I don't know anything about me,** Nanika mutters.

 _Suuuure,_ Alluka says, doubt creeping into her voice.

 **I'm still as strange as ever,** Nanika argues, frustration coloring her voice. **I—I still don't know why—**

She comes to an abrupt halt.

 **Why what?** Alluka demands.

 **Killua’s back,** Nanika says. **Can't you feel it?**

 _I'm still working on Nen principles,_ Alluka reminds her. _I'm not an otherworldly genius like you, so I can't sense that far._

 **I’m using your Nen receptacles,** Nanika replies, with an uncertain expression. **I can use the principles better because I’m just using my raw power, but because my powers are so specific, you are far more versatile.**

 _Can't be versatile when you don't have anything yet,_ Alluka grumbles.

 **Just wait a minute,** Nanika says. **You’ll feel it.**

And a minute later, something in her skin tingles. _Oh_ , she thinks.

 **That's the feeling,** Nanika says. **Get used to it. Keep it close. Keep Killua close.**

It’s like this when Alluka can feel Nanika most—when their conversations have less words and a lot more feeling. It reminds her of when they first started out—a mess of emotions that tried to connect with one another until everything clicked.

She focuses on the feeling of her tingling skin.

Killua’s aura is soothing. It feels like something Alluka would curl up with to sleep. It feels like what she remembers the sun to feel like before she got locked up. Maybe the comfort stems solely from the fact that it is just Killua, and Killua has always meant comfort to her. To the both of them.

The door cracks open, and without even checking if she was right, she runs towards him, arms open.

 

* * *

 

Killua seems to hug her tighter than usual. “Oh, Alluka,” he murmurs. “I missed you.”

“Did you bring me a new book?” she asks, and then flushes. She's always buzzing with impatience whenever Killua is around.

Mostly because Killua often leaves. And every second with him is a rare opportunity. It feels good to demand things from him and monopolize his time.

“Actually,” Killua says, “actually, I, uh…”

He sounds strangely giddy, even though his speech is nervous. Alluka grins.

“Did something good happen?”

“Kinda?” Killua says. “Uh, I didn't bring you a book.” He ruffles her hair, taking care not to tangle the beads together. “But I think I have something better.”

“Well, what is it?”

Killua drops his voice to a hush. “The back room’s security cam is disabled. Let's talk there.”

Alluka just smiles wider. “Okay,” she says.

Killua has never looked happier. He smiles softly, and that's when Alluka knows that today is the best that Killua has ever been: soft, determined, and with a crazy look in his eyes.

 **Killua is unstoppable,** Nanika says.

Alluka nods. Nanika doesn't have to tell her twice; Killua _is_ unstoppable, like lightning from high above—about to hit an unknown target faster than anyone can see. Alluka has no idea what he's about to do, and that's probably the best part. If Killua, who so often follows the rules and guides Illumi lays down, is changing things, good things will only follow. Alluka has always believed in her brother, after all.

They duck into a cramped closet. Killua's hands are trembling as he pulls the door closed.

“Won't they restore the camera?”

“Not if I'm here,” Killua says, a threat to the empty air.

“Are you about to do something crazy?” Alluka asks. _Please say yes,_ she thinks. _Take me outside or do something wild and crazy and we'll both be happier._

Killua blinks at her, and takes a deep breath. “Not really,” he says, but his hands have not stopped shaking.

Alluka clutches them now, staring straight at Killua. His eyes dart left and right.

“Are you scared, onii-chan?” Alluka asks.

“No,” Killua says, out of instinct. He sighs. “Maybe. It's a natural reaction.”

“Breathe with me?” Alluka offers.

“Sure.”

She takes in a deep breath, and counts the numbers in her head as she exhales and inhales. Soon enough, Killua syncs his breathing with her, and their chests rise and fall. It feels strange that Alluka is the one doing this. Normally, Killua is the one doing this, after Alluka starts to panic about the outside world.

He will always reassure her that the outside world is something to be cherished, despite any horrors she reads of. Nanika is always silent during those times. Maybe it's that which makes Alluka so afraid.

But none of that matters now. Nanika’s thoughts are swirling up like a wave and they tumble out of her throat, raw and uncut. “Do what makes you happy,” Alluka finds herself saying. “Killua, do what makes you _happy_.”

Slowly, the shaking stops. “Thanks,” Killua says, and then pauses for a moment. He lets out a breath of air. “I was just a bit unsure, okay? Now listen to me.”

“I'm listening,” Alluka says.

“So,” Killua begins, clearing his throat. “I didn't say much about the mission I was on, but it was actually an infiltration mission.”

“Those are the ones you hate most, right?”

Killua laughs. “Well, yeah. That’s why I never do them.”

“Right,” Alluka says.

“So,” Killua says, “I kinda actually became friends with the target?”

“ _What?_ ” she half-shrieks.

“Yeah,” Killua says, “we talked a lot because it was an infiltration mission and I had to get close and act normal, and we ended up being friends?”

“Wait, wait—” Alluka interrupts, blinking rapidly. “You’re telling me you made friends with you target, oh, _oh—_ ” She takes in a deep breath. “Did you, uh, have to kill him?”

“About that.” Killua says. His voice is steady but his eyes are shining. “I didn’t. I also promised him that I’d come back, so. Want to come with me?”

Alluka lets out a shaky exhale. “Oh,” she says.

_Nanika?_

**Good for you, right?**

_Well, yes. Just—_

“I think I’m going to freak out, onii-chan,” Alluka murmurs. “Do I need to pack? And how are we going to leave? And—”

“Do you need anything from here?”

“I’ve got gifts from you,” Alluka says, “but you’re more important, so packing isn’t really necessary.”

“Mhm,” Killua hums. “I’m going to protect you with everything I have, okay? They’ll never be able to touch us.”

“Silly,” Alluka tells him, smiling. “One day I’ll be good enough to protect you.” 

**I could do it, you know.**

_I know you could,_ Alluka tells her. _But you don’t have to._

Nanika agrees reluctantly. **Killua is good,** she muses. **Because he doesn’t want to use me.** **He wants to protect me.** She grows silent. **You want to use me, sometimes, don’t you?**

 _For Killua. And a little bit for me,_ Alluka admits. _But I’d like to get to the point where I can stand on my own._ _When I’m strong enough to do that, I can help the people I care about._

 **You are good to me,** Nanika says.

“I _want_ to be good,” Alluka says, out loud. It surprises herself. “For everything. I want to be strong enough and _good_ enough.” She stresses it carefully, meeting Killua’s eyes.

“You’re the kindest person I know, Alluka,” Killua says.

This time, Alluka’s smile is brittle. “Are you sure about that, onii-chan?” She hates many things in her life. For one, she has wishes Illumi would die thousands of times.

Killua grins, ruffling her hair. “Well, you’re the _cutest_ ,” he amends.

Alluka tackles him and hugs him, laughing into his chest. She can feel Killua’s heartbeat like this; she can feel the way he laughs and she can hear the words Killua whispers to himself.

_I’m keeping my promise._

When she looks up, Killua is staring at the ceiling with a fond gaze.

“What’s his name?” Alluka asks, sitting up.

“Gon Freecs.” 

**Wait, did he say—**

Nanika sounds urgent, almost terrified.

**Please, please let me talk to him, Alluka, I need to—**

Alluka takes in a deep breath and lets Nanika take over.

“Kill _ua_ ,” Nanika gasps.

“Oh, Nanika,” Killua says. “You’re already here? I was just going to ask—”

“Did you—did you say Gon _Freecs?_ ” she demands. “You’re sure of that, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Killua says. “He said his dad was a famous hunter or something, though—”

“That’s not it,” Nanika cuts in, eyes wild. “I _know_ him, I know—” She buries her face in her hands.

**This isn’t good—**

Killua pats her head softly. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” Killua says. “It’ll be fine.” he does not ask any questions.

Nanika slowly relaxes. “Sure,” she says. “So what did you want?”

She meets his eyes, glad she isn’t crying.

“I might need to wish on you,” Killua says. “If something bad happens. WIll you be alright?”

“Yeah,” Nanika says. “We’re getting out of here, right?”

“So they won’t try to wish on you ever again, okay?” Something in his voice feels like a promise.

“Sounds good,” Nanika replies, getting up. “Ready to talk to them?”

“Sure.” Killua sounds anything but sure.

Nanika smiles. “I really, really love you, Killua,” she reminds him. “Let’s do this together.”

The way he smiles back at her makes her feel invincible.

 

* * *

 

With quick steps, they storm out of the doors. The butlers eye them carefully, but as soon as they catch sight of Nanika, they shrink back.

Fear is a powerful reminder.

“We’re taking a detour,” Nanika announces.

“To where?”

She grins. “A request from Alluka. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

Killua looks at her. Nanika smiles with a sort of kindness that’s visible even without human features. “You’ve really grown up, huh,” he notes. Somehow, Nanika has managed to not only be able to use her own powers, but she’s gotten a grasp on language that even confuses him, sometimes.

“Well,” Nanika says, “we can’t let you be alone all the time. Share some of your burdens with us, okay?”

Killua smiles. “I’m still going to protect you,”

“And the feeling is mutual,” Nanika states. “Friends… family helps out each other because they can, right?”

“Right,” Killua says. This is the good part of family, he thinks. This is the part that matters.

It’s at this point that Killua realizes that they’re headed to the security room.

Nanika scrunches her eyebrows, closing her eyes. A few seconds pass, and soon her eyes open again, clear and blue.

“That was a lot of switching,” Alluka says with a yawn.

“Tired?”

“A little bit.” She smiles at Killua. “You’ll be okay, right?”

“I will.”

“Well, time’s a wasting,” Alluka says. “You might as well settle things.”

Killua squares his shoulders. “You’re right,” he says.

He can feel Illumi’s aura on the other side. It swirls around like smog, sick and filled with the scent of blood. Despite everything, despite the way it twists at his gut and makes his head ache, the aura is almost comforting. It feels familiar, like a home he once used to know.

A home he’s better off without. He closes his eyes. He calls into mind the image of Gon, smiling with all of the answers in his palm. _That’s what strength feels like,_ Killua thinks. _That’s the type of world he wants to be in._

“I did promise you,” he murmurs. “I wouldn’t break a promise with you, ever.”

He pushes the doors open. He does not flinch when he sees Illumi’s eyes dart towards him.

“I’m leaving,” Killua says.

“You can’t let it out of the manor, Killua,” Silva says. “It’s a danger to everyone. It’s best to keep it confined.”

His voice is dry. This is always how conversations go between them. He knows that Silva has been largely lenient towards him. But none of that is kindness. He can see it in Silva’s eyes; he is convinced that Illumi will always bring him back.

“I’m leaving with Nanika,” Killua says, voice loud and firm, “and I’m not coming back.”

Silence befalls the room.

Milluki is the first to break it. “You can’t do that, you idiot!” he sneers. “You’re nowhere near strong enough!”

“Shut it,” Silva growls. “We’re leaving.”

Milluki flushes pink, but follows as Kikyo and Silva exit. Killua can hear some of their voices as they disappear down the hallway.

“Oh, Illumi is…” Milluki gasps in realization.

“You’re completely ineffective,” Kikyo scolds. “Nitwit.”

“Well, Illumi’s gonna solve this in a few minutes,” Milluki responds, relaxed. “Whatever.”

The rest of it is too quiet to make out.

“Kil,” Illumi whispers, sending chills up his spine. “Why don’t you stop right now, or I’ll have to stop you by force.”

“I’m _leaving_ ,” Killua says again. “You’re not stopping me.” If he says it enough times, maybe his faith in it will become invincible. Maybe he will never have to see Illumi’s face or think of him again.

Illumi’s eyes seem to bore holes through the both of them. “You can’t win against your big brother, can you?”

Killua freezes. His eyes sweep the room. _First rule,_ he thinks. _Don’t pick a fight with someone stronger than you._

“You can’t fight me,” Illumi repeats. “Not the way you are.”

“I—” Killua says. His eyes are welling up. Why can’t he _move?_

“Listen to me,” Illumi says. “You can’t win against someone stronger than you. You can’t fight! You can’t win!”

_He’s stronger, better—_

Illumi grabs his arm. He can feel the needles _everywhere._

_Gon—_

“I’m,” Killua says. Cannot say anything else.

_He’s stronger—_

Illumi’s needles are in his head, and it’s making him feel like everything was nothing, and his head _hurts_ , it hurts from—

Killua’s eyes widen. He reaches up to his forehead and digs his fingernails into his skin.

_Gon would fight against me, even though I would win, Gon would fight anyone—_

“You _can’t_ control me!” he yells, and rips the needle out. It drops onto the floor, blood staining the tiles.

“If you,” Killua begins, voice shaky, “If you don’t leave us alone, I will wish on Nanika, and she’ll kill you.”

He is not strong enough to fight any of them on his own terms, right now. But he thinks of Alluka’s determination, of Nanika’s precious heart, and of Gon’s wonderful smile, and—

He is strong enough to run away. He is strong enough to keep a promise.  
“When did you fulfill those three requests?” Illumi asks.

Killua ignores him and wipes the blood off of his forehead. “Come on, Alluka,” Killua says. “Let’s go.” He takes her wrist with the hand that isn’t covered with his blood and exits the room.

Alluka is silent for a minute, and then she asks, “What kind of person is Gon?”

Killua’s heart swells with warmth. “You’ll like him,” Killua tells her. “He’s a friend.”

“A real friend?” Alluka asks.

“Yeah,” Killua affirms, smiling. “A real friend.” He cannot describe the way Gon makes him feel; the way he is so many things Killua admires and the way Killua just wants to fit with him and travel the world with him.

They stop in Killua’s room for a few minutes to grab enough money for the both of them. The Zoldyck Manor is eerily quiet as they make their way to the exit. It’s good that Illumi hasn’t bothered to chase after them.

Then Kikyo screams. "He can't go! Not after he just came back! Not with _it!_ ” Footsteps thud closer to them, and Killua can hear the sound of a dress

“Hey, Alluka,” Killua says. “How do you feel about a ride?”

“A what?”

He holds out his hands. “Let me pick you up.” Alluka barely even glances at the drying blood on his hand and face before letting him carry her.

Kikyo lunges towards him, and Killua sidesteps her deftly. “Listen up!” he shouts. “I’m going to tell you what I told Illu-nii. If you try to stop us, I’ll wish on Nanika to kill all of you. Got it?”

Silva appears on his other side. “Who are you going to see?”

“A friend.”

Silva nods. “You’re making a mistake,” he tells him. “Taking her.”

“That’s what you think,” Killua mutters.

“But do not betray your friends,” Silva says, pricking his thumb and pressing it to Killua’s head. He smiles with a sinister glint in his eyes.

“Goodbye,” Killua says. He will probably never see them again, even if Silva thinks otherwise.  

And before Kikyo can say another word, he takes three quick steps forward, lets electricity flow through his body, and—

He runs.

 _Godspeed_.

He's never felt so free before, dashing through the treetops and flying through the wind. The world blurs past him, and Alluka feels like a feather. He looks at the sun, rising up in the sky, and he grins as the mountain and town blur right past him. The warmth in his heart is growing and growing and growing and he’s pumped with adrenaline. He can feel the ghost of Gon’s hand in his as he runs away from everything he used to know.  

Once they've cleared enough distance, he sets Alluka down and sits on the soft grass.

“Onii-chan?” Alluka asks.

“Yeah?” There is a special feeling, Killua thinks, when the sun warms your skin. It is like soaking up all the hope the world has to offer.

“Where are we going?”

He grins. “A place far, far away,” he sings. “It's called Whale Island.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok an announcement: I'm going to post ch 14 on @hxh-textposts before stopping new chapters from being written. this means that there will hopefully be more time for this project!!! (until school and marching band slowly starts to kill me)
> 
> note: most chapters are one character throughout. this happens to be one of the exceptions. funny enough, the other chapter that also deviates from this norm is an alluka/nanika centric chapter. 
> 
> comments are my lifeblood guys, thanks for all the support
> 
> find me @ sonnets-of-beauty !!!


	6. when will my life begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He closes his eyes. He thinks of every missed place, of every shrug and an “I don’t know.” He thinks of every time he has not found Ging, of every time people have turned him away, of walking alone, alone, alone.
> 
> Maybe he is obsessive; but _god,_ the rush he gets when his obsession is _right—_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm alive!!!
> 
> here's a very long chapter to make up for it!!

Gon is sitting at the port for the fiftieth time, feeling the breeze wash over him, wondering when his life will ever begin. That’s also probably the fiftieth time he’s wondered that. Or maybe the hundredth.

He thinks that maybe he is obsessive. Not many people fixate on a dream that they have failed and failed again.

But here he is. The air is cold and crisp in the night, and the moon and stars offer the light that Gon needs to trace the outline of ships and the crests of waves. His eyes have always been good. They help him catch things that people miss, but he has missed Ging again and again and he has not gotten anything to gain from it.

The Hunter Exam was kind to him, Gon thinks. People seemed to think he was interesting.

But no one was interesting to him. No one has been interesting, not for a very long while.

The assassins were an okay sort of entertainment, for a while. But none of them are _interesting_. They’re all just psychos on a mission to kill him. It’s good practice, but they’re not someone Gon can trust.

He sees Mito with other ladies from the village, sometimes. He sees her and wonders if one day he will find someone that he can travel the world with. He wonders if one day he will find someone he can really be friends with.

It has been months since Killua left him, and Gon can feel the edges of doubt in his mind.

Killua is the only one that Gon has ever felt so connected to. Killua is the only one that has ever been interesting, that has been such an amazing combination of strong and funny, and Gon thinks that if he ever sees Killua again, he will grasp at him and never let him go.

 _There are people that belong,_ Gon thinks. Killua belongs right next to him. He has never wanted anything so much.

He is watching the ocean move. The water is blue and endless and vast. It is the kind of paradise anyone would want to stop by and watch. It is the kind of paradise Gon has wanted to get away from. You see the same blues and greens for years and suddenly everything melds together. Gon watches the blues of the waters and thinks he would much rather be watching the blue of Killua’s eyes.

He is sitting at the port for the fiftieth time and he smiles. The sea ocean breeze wafts towards him, and he catches a taste of sunshine. Or maybe a look, maybe a voice, maybe a decidedly _electric_ sort of smell that makes his heart jump. Gon can see white hair, blue eyes, can see a smirk and grass stains, like wilderness but something _new_. Electricity is a very distinct scent; Gon is rarely around it, so when he thinks of electricity, the only thing he can see is Killua.

He closes his eyes. He thinks of every missed place, of every shrug and an “I don’t know.” He thinks of every time he has not found Ging, of every time people have turned him away, of walking alone, alone, alone.

Maybe he is obsessive; but _god_ , the rush he gets when his obsession is _right_ —

He opens his eyes.

Killua is standing in front of him with a grin and a cream pie.

“Surprise!” he calls out, and then the pie smashes against Gon’s face.

Gon yelps, tasting cream and the sweetness of sunshine, and so he wipes the cream off of his face and chases after Killua, managing to smear some of it across his cheek.

Killua shrieks, and then he is off like a dart, jumping onto buildings with lightning speed.

There is a sigh next to his ear, and Gon turns around.

A girl stares at him with an appraising look. She smiles, and offers her hand “Hi, I’m Alluka,” she says.

Gon blinks, and then grins. “Hey!” He shrugs. “Sorry, I’ve got to chase after Killua now!”

“Wait.” The hand gripping his wrist is not particularly, strong, but the grip is firm. Alluka jerks her head towards where Killua has disappeared. “You’ll need an actual cream pie to catch him, and I doubt you can catch him.”

“Really?” Gon asks. It sounds like a fun challenge.

“Anyways, I’m his sister,” Alluka adds. She grabs a napkin from a hidden pocket in her dress. “For your face.”

“Oh!” she exclaims, after Gon has wiped his face and thrown the napkin in the nearest trashcan. “You need to meet someone else first.”

She closes her eyes, brows furrowed. Alluka breathes in, breathes out. Her shoulders tense. Gon hears the ocean pulse behind her. Her eyes open into bottomless pits. “Pleased to meet you,” the… other person says. “I am Nanika.”

Gon swallows. He offers his hand. “Hello, Nanika.”

She shakes her head. “Same body, remember? We’ve shaken hands already. Also, Alluka may have forgotten, so: If you do anything to harm my—our—brother, you will regret it.” The black of her eyes seem to dance like shadows.

Gon nods his head. “Okay,” he says.

“I know you,” Nanika blurts out, and then bites her lip.

“...Okay?” Gon answers. He supposes that Killua has told her some things about him. Nanika seems like an awkward person, so that probably explains the general shiftiness. He decides to not point it out, since she seems to be ignoring the strangeness as well. Gon is no stranger to weird things, after all. He may as well do his best to treat her naturally.

Nanika nods, stiffly. “Your last name is Freecs, correct?”

He nods.  

She asks, “Do you know your grandfather?”

Gon laughs. “I barely know my father,” he tells her. Officially, Ging is a gourmet hunter that finds monsters from around the world, and cooks and eats them. Unofficially, he is a terrible cook, but has made discoveries around the world and explored places to hunt for nothing but more adventure. And Gon is not a part of that adventure. “I couldn't even tell you what he looks like.”

“I see,” Nanika murmurs. She stares at him for a minute, unmoving. “Well, that’s all,” Nanika says, and then she closes her eyes.

Alluka reappears. “Well, where do you live?” she asks.

“Oh, a ways off,” Gon says. “Shouldn’t we get Killua first?”

She snorts. “I promise you, Killua’s already there.”

“Alright, then,” Gon says. “Follow me.” Part of him feels a little strange. He would have liked to bring in Killua himself and tell Mito he was back. Of course, Killua knows where the house is, so it isn’t really a problem, but…

Gon just likes being with Killua. He thinks he would’ve liked sharing the moment, because this is kind of a big thing. He bites his lip. Maybe it’s only a big thing for him, though. Killua is always so effortless, and Gon obsesses over things and ignores things whimsically. Killua is back, though, Gon reminds himself, and that’s what’s important.

He glances at Alluka as they walk. She is tall for a girl. Killua is tall, too. She has blue eyes, like Killua’s. She seems to carry none of Killua’s relaxed posture, but at the very least, Alluka seems like a sweet person. Gon does not know her, yet. But if Killua wanted to bring her here, she must be an important person.

Gon cannot understand that. He has Mito as an important person. But he would leave her alone if he had to. He makes a note of it to ask Killua later. 

There are so many things he has to do. He has to ask Killua about things, and then he wants to travel the world with him, because he is bitter and Ging has left him on an island and Gon needs to find him. He slips his hand into his pocket. He carries two hunter licenses. A golden one of Ging’s, and his very own, battered from a previous journey.

Gon had not been kind, before. He has thrown both cards into dirt and rain and cried where no one could see. He has left them out in the snow only to take them back. That hunter card is the only thing Gon has of his father. But Killua has a hunter card, too, Gon thinks, and they can go anywhere.

“You’re spacing out,” Alluka says, snapping Gon out of his trance.

“Ah, sorry,” he says. He can feel that rush again, though, the kind of thing that comes from desperately chasing after one thing for the entirety of your life.

Killua waves at him. “Sure took you two forever,” he teases.

Alluka smirks. “Well, it was fun,” she says. “Killua, have you just been hanging out by the door?”

Killua’s face turns pink. “Well!” he begins, and then pauses. “Well, I didn’t think it was right to walk into someone's house like that—”

“Mito would love to have you around, though, you know that—” Gon starts, and then he catches Alluka’s widening smirk.

“Ohhhh,” he asks, “were you waiting for us?”

“No!” Killua says. “Never! Uh, actually, maybe, wait—”

Gon smiles. “I’m glad you waited for me, Killua!” he says. He then swings the door open and beckons the both of them in.

Alluka steps over the threshold gingerly. She stares at the floor like she wants to befriend the wood.

“Mito!” Gon calls, and her face pops out from another room.

“Go—Oh! Killua!”

Gon grins, and he takes Killua’s wrist, bringing him farther into the house. “He’s finally back, Mito!”

Her face softens. “That’s very good.” She looks at Alluka “Who’s the young lady?”

Alluka straightens up instantly with a glint in her eyes. “Hello!” she says. It is filled with too much cheer and too much excitement, but Mito takes it in stride.

“I’m sure you must be tired from the ocean journey,” Mito offers. “Gon stays out for far too long. Take a good night’s rest here, and I’ll make a big breakfast in the morning.” She grabs her bag from where it lays on the counter.

Alluka clears her throat. “Mito, where are you going?”

“Oh, just for some late-night shopping.”

“I’ll go with you!” Alluka yells. “Um, I’d really like to, if that’s okay…” she adds with a whisper.

“Gon, make sure Killua is comfortable,” Mito commands. “And sure, Alluka.”

Alluka taps Killua’s shoulder as she steps out of the house. The stars twinkle around her shoulders. “I’m off to do my own thing,” she tells him. “Now go do yours.” She glances at Gon. “I haven’t the faintest idea why Killua likes you so much,” Alluka says, “but you seem like a good human.”

 _Human?_ Gon wonders. _Who uses human?_

Killua smiles, and ruffles her hair. “Be safe,” he tells her.

“I will,” she promises, and she walks with Mito to the town. Killua watches them go for a few seconds before quietly shutting the door.

“Whole house to ourselves, huh?” Killua says.

“It’s not that big,” Gon says. “Want to come to my room?”

Killua shrugs. “I am pretty tired,” he says.

Gon nods. “Then let’s sleep.”

Killua slumps down on Gon’s bed the second they enter the room. “It’s so _soft_ ,” he groans.

“The animals in the forest have softer fur,” Gon says.

“Well, I don’t know what I’m missing,” Killua grumbles. “So I will sleep.” Gon glances at the futon laid down by the side of the bed.

He ignores it and jumps onto the soft mattress.

“I’m gonna kick you off,” Killua threatens.

Gon scoffs. “You wish.”

Killua lightly pushes at his face. He then grabs the blankets and snuggles in.

“Ha!” Killua cries. “I win.”

Gon crawls into the blankets, tangling his legs with Killua.

“Why are you _warm_.” Killua says it like an insult. Or maybe he’s just outraged, because Killua’s feet are extremely cold. Gon tastefully does not comment on how cold Killua is.

“Natural.”

Killua hums.

“This is the second day you’ve known me, you know?” Gon says.

“Followed you for longer,” Killua mumbles. “And you’re cool.”

Gon grins into Killua’s shoulder. “So are you,” he murmurs.

Killua’s eyes are closed shut.

“Did you know,” Gon says, as he feels tiredness soak into his bones, “That you smell like electricity?”

“We’ll talk about that tomorrow,” Killua mutters, and then yawns.

“Hey,” Gon says, remembering, “Hey, Killua, Alluka, she’s your important person, right?”

Killua is asleep.

“Hey,” Gon says, softer, “she’s important to you, right? You’ve got people who are so important to you that you bring them around the world?”

There are so many things Gon likes about Killua, but it is impossible to describe it all. Killua is just—fun, and interesting, and he’s Killua, and this is where he belongs.

 _Important person,_ Gon reminds himself, because he should ask Killua about it, because he should fix the strange feeling in his chest he can’t let go of.

“Hey,” Gon says, barely a whisper. “I’m glad you came back.”

The tiredness envelopes him like warmth, and Gon falls asleep the happiest he’s been in four years.

 

* * *

 

 _Maybe even happier,_ Gon feels, when he wakes up to a delicious smell from the kitchen.

Killua stands above him with a satisfied smile. “Show me the animals?” Killua asks.

“Uh,” Gon says. He doesn’t think that there is any other blue like Killua’s eyes. Alluka’s are bright, and Killua’s are a glassy sort of gray-blue that is gentle and lively all at once. He thinks that those are the kind of eyes he would never forget, even if he saw them once.

“Sure,” Gon says, “but let’s eat first. And then we can talk in the forest?”

Killua nods. “Kay.” He then kicks the bed. “Get up, loser.”

Gon groans, and swings his legs over to the side. “How long have you been awake?”

“Half an hour,” Killua answers. “And Mito was already up, so you have no excuse.”

“I am a growing child that needs sleep,” Gon complains.

“I am a growing child that is taller than you,” Killua says, “so I don’t get your point.”

Gon brushes his teeth. “I can’t believe,” he says, when he finishes, “that you are holding a half hour over me.”

“You’re whiny, so yeah I do,” Killua replies.

“Okay, okay,” Gon says, after he has splashed cold water in his face. “Let’s eat.”

“You’re making us all starve,” Killua says. “Alluka looks like she might faint.”

“Right,” Gon says. “Alluka.” He does not know what to do with her fake cheer. He certainly does not want to call it out.

Killua looks at him weirdly. “Yeah, Alluka,” he says. “Come on, let’s eat.”

Gon drags himself to the breakfast table, and they eat with minimal words after that, because Mito’s food is delicious and talking during that is basically sacrilege. Alluka and Mito talk softly on the other side. Alluka eats in small, careful bites. One time Gon looks up and he thinking that her eyes are so shiny she may be crying. But the next time he looks at her Alluka is wearing a carefully polite mask, and Gon does not say anything. He wonders what Killua will think about all these weird things. He does not know how to like Alluka when he does not know her. And he likes Killua, and Killua must stay here, so he supposes that Alluka must, too, but he almost wants for her to stay with Mito.

She catches his eyes again. She looks at him, and then she smiles. It feels real, and Gon thinks that maybe she will be alright. Her eyes are almost like Killua’s. And Gon does not know how to feel about family bonds, but the way Alluka sets herself feels different than a normal family. Gon cannot explain it, but he thinks it has something to do with Nanika.

Another thing he should ask about, actually.

“Alright,” he chirps, when they’ve finished cleaning up. “Mito, I’ll be out in the forest with Killua!”

She sighs. “Yeah, I got it. Will you be back for lunch?”

“We’ll visit your shop,” Gon promises.

“Alluka,” Killua says, “You okay with wandering around town?”

She gives him a thumbs-up. “I’ve got my own exploring to do,” she assures.

Gon bounces on the balls of his feet. Killua turns towards him, and Gon dashes out the door. He’s not wearing shoes, but shoes are useless in the forest. Killua sprints after him, shoe-clad, and Gon thinks maybe he will regret being shoeless later, but right now, the forest and Killua are calling.

Literally. The birds are chirping, and Killua calls after him before Killua somehow manages to catch up to and surpass him, and then he’s calling from the front with a grin. His feet crackle with the faintest of sparks, and his hair is all spiked up, but that disappears as soon as Killua catches up to him. Gon catches a whiff of electricity, but that fades into a dull sort of after-scent, and Killua is ahead of him.  

“So that’s why you smell like electricity,” Gon says, panting, hands on his knees. He has never run that fast or hard. They’re deep enough into the forest now. “Unfair advantage,” he says, straightening up.

“I didn’t use any of it when I caught up to you,” Killua says. “So really, no.”

Gon groans. Killua doesn’t even look winded. “How are you so fast?”

“You’re the weird one here,” Killua says. “You’re _warm_.”

“You’re welcome.” Gon grins. “So…”

Killua quirks an eyebrow. “So?”

“Alluka,” Gon says, walking through the forest. “She’s your sister?”

“Yep,” Killua answers. “I have three other brothers, too.”

“You’ve got a big family,” Gon says.

‘Well,” Killua responds, “we’re all assassins.” He breathes in once before continuing. “My last name is Zoldyck. We live on the manor on Kukuroo Mountain. I came here because I was supposed to kill you, but I didn't like it, so I grabbed Alluka and Nanika, and ran away.” He laughs. “The last time I ran away, I had to stab my mother’s face, but having Nanika this time stopped them from chasing after me.”

Gon freezes. Then he shrugs. “You didn't try to kill me, so you must be okay.”

Killua smiles. “Yeah. I won’t ever go back there again.” He pauses. “Alluka and Nanika are different. See, Nanika’s a wish-granter.”

“Wish-granter?”

“She’s something very hard to understand,” Killua says. “But she’s a good person. And Alluka is a great person once she opens up.”

“She seems sweet,” Gon says.

Killua nods. “You'll see, soon enough,” he says.

“Well, she's an important person to you, right?” Gon says. “She and I will get along.”

“Well—I guess, yeah,” Killua says, fumbling. “So are you, then.”

Gon smiles wide. “That sounds awesome.” He stops and turns towards Killua. “You're an important person, too.”

Killua breathes in. “Who's that?” A small creature bounds towards Gon, and it leaps into his arms.

Killua snorts, but when Gon looks at him for explanation, he just shrugs.

Gon pats the creature on the head. The fur is soft and lovely, and—

He turns towards Killua. “Here, touch his fur.”

Killua reaches out a hand, and he strokes his fingers across the fur, touch feather-light. “Soft,” he breathes.

Gon smiles. “Told you so.”

“I've gotten too used to sleeping on the floor or trees,” Killua mutters.

“Why’s that?”

“I don't like my family,” Killua says. “It helps to not be near them.”

“You could stay at a hotel, though?” If Killua’s family has a manor, Killua must certainly have enough money to live well.

Killua shakes his head. “Hotels are weird,” he says firmly. “I’ll sleep just about anywhere, but some of them get on my nerves. And besides, we’ve been traveling on sea for a long while.”

Gon hums. “So what’re you going to do now?”

Killua smiles. “Weren’t you going to find your father?” he asks.

“Yeah, and?”

“I’m going with you, idiot,” Killua says. “So are my sisters.”

“Are they okay with that?”

Killua grins. “Alluka would love to explore the world. Searching for Ging will take us a lot of places, won’t it?”

“She’s a real Hunter, isn’t she?” Gon asks.

He’s met with a nod of agreement. Killua pats the creature again. “I think she’ll want to get her Hunter License soon, but not yet.” His face darkens. “I won’t let anyone hurt her.”

“She doesn’t seem very… physical,” Gon says.

“She’s been locked up in a room for most of her life,” Killua comments, “So.”

“You have such an interesting life, Killua!” Gon marvels.

“It’s about to be a lot more interesting,” Killua says.

“We’ll be going on the sea again,” Gon says, with a cheeky smile.

Killua groans. “Hopefully it’s a shorter trip.”

The creature jumps out of Gon’s arms and scurries away. Gon waves it goodbye. “Let’s go back?” he suggests.

“I’ve got a map,” Killua says. “Show me where you’ve been and we’ll figure out the rest together.”

Gon grins. “Race you there?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Killua says, and he’s off, laugh echoing in the forest.

Gon closes his eyes, finds Killua’s voice far ahead, and runs after him.

 

* * *

 

Alluka is in the house with her eyebrows scrunched together when Gon and Killua enter.

“What are you doing here?” Killua asks. His face is not tense, but his head is tilted and he looks at her with sad eyes.

She does not respond.

Killua bites his lip. He stares at her for a long while. Then he shrugs. “Come on,” he says to Gon. “Sit down.”

“She seems like she’s looking for something,” Gon says.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Killua agrees. “I just didn’t know that she could do—that.”

“Use _En?_ ” Gon supplies.

Killua laughs. “Yes—that,” he says. “I’m horrible at it.” He continues, “My dad and grandpa are good at it, though. Maybe I just got the short end of the stick?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the best thing from the Zoldyck family,” Gon mutters, frowning.

“Don’t like assassins?”

“You can only have them try to kill you so many times before you get bored,” Gon says. “And—they’re actually crazy? Or at least all the ones I’ve met are? They’re so boring, you know? Just all like—oh boy here comes the knife! I have to kill you!”

He taps the back the of Killua’s hand. “You’re different.”

“As if people could kill you with _just_ a knife,” Killua tells him, fond smile gracing his face.

Gon grins. “As if,” he agrees. His fingers slip into Killua’s, palm pressing against the back of Killua’s hand.

“My family is pretty messed up,” Killua tells him. “They’re not psychopaths, though.” He shivers. “Maybe Illu-nii is, actually.”

“Family is weird,” Gon says. “Can you believe that no one in the world knows where my dad is?”

“ _Zetsu?_ ” Killua suggests.

“Yeah, you would think, but then I’m pretty sure it’d feel odd, you know? For example,” Gon says, motioning towards where Alluka’s presence has disappeared, “You can feel it.  There’s an absence. And Ging can’t hide like that forever, if he’s out adventuring.”

“Well, maybe,” Killua says, “if he can’t hide forever, we’ll chase him and find him.” Gon laughs. “That’s the dream.” He closes his eyes. It feels natural, being here with Killua. It feels like this is what he was meant for.

There are no boys his age on Whale Island. There were no boys his age out and traveling the world. Now, he suspects there might be sixteen-year olds wandering, but that’s not worth it. Gon started his adventure at twelve; he wants to know someone who knows what it feels like at twelve to throw yourself out into the world.

And Killua is all of that and more. Gon thinks that maybe it’s Killua’s power and speed that draws him in, but even more, his silliness and sharp wit. Killua feels like someone who he can match step for step.

He breathes in. The silence and the absence and the lack of sight makes him hyper-aware of the way Killua’s hand fits with his.

“Aha!” Alluka cries, voice sharp. “I knew it!” Gon opens his eyes to see her punch her fist into the air with a victory hoot. She slides off the table and swings opens a cabinet.

“Oh,” Gon realizes. “Weren’t you supposed to be with Mito?”

“I told her I was touring the town with a nice lady named Rowena,” Alluka says. She snickers. “ _Rowena_ is playing videogames inside her house.”

“So you lied,” Killua says, voice flat.

“I lied,” Alluka confirms. “I ran back here because Nanika thought something was suspicious. She kept looking at you really weirdly, Killua! Really weird! We knew something was wrong.”

“Why did Mito let you go out with a complete stranger?” Killua asks, brows furrowed.

“Oh, Rowena is Mito’s friend. I asked her about people she knew last night.”

“Okay,” Killua says with a sigh. “But why would you do this? I mean, I trust you, but wandering around by yourself is dangerous!”

Alluka narrows her eyes. “Trust me, I’m fine. We walked around the place last night.”

Killua mulls it over. “Alright,” he relents. “We’ve been traveling for the past few months, so I guess you’re prepared enough for a little wandering—”

“As this is the least dangerous place on Earth,” Alluka cuts in, “I think it’s the perfect place to start wandering on my own.”

“ _That’s not it!_ ” Killua shouts, and then quieter, “I don’t see why you’re so adamant about needing to wander around on your own.”

Alluka bites her lip. “I _need_ that independence,” she confesses, quiet, and then grows in volume. “When you’re protecting me, I’m safe, and warm, and happy, but I can’t be holding you back. I _know_ you love me! I love you too, and that means we have to be ready to survive on our own for a while.”

“I’m never going to leave you, Alluka,” Killua insists. “ _Never_.”

“I know that. But we won’t be together every second of the day, either, so.” She sticks her chin up defiantly. “I’m learning how to do this because I _want_ to. I _want_ to be able to do things on my own so that we can both be happy. There’s—there’s going to be a time where you’ll need to be alone, or don’t want to see me, or when I need to be alone. I want to be able to feel like that’s something that I can live with. That it’s _okay_.”

Gon blinks. He blinks again. There’s a kind of ferocity here that makes him smile.

Alluka’s eyes are shining, and—

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens them, one eye is black. “I’m speaking as both of us when I say that you can’t always protect us.”

Killua wraps her _—them?—_ up into a hug.

And, well, Gon—

Gon stares. He thinks that he has never seen Killua so emotional. Killua is like a summer breeze, light and carefree. Killua does not look tight and wound up like he’s about to cry.

His shoulders are hunched up and he has her held tight like he will never let her go. And all Gon thinks about is the fact that he feels so incredibly sixteen right now, older than everything from four years ago. _People,_ Gon thinks, _change_. He has been stagnant for years, and now all at once it hits him.

He wants to feel young, but he can’t. Gon breathes in, trying to take it all in. Adventures will be harder. He cannot run through the world without a care. He cannot run around the world with Killua and remain oblivious to everything else. There are people Killua is running away from, and Killua has Alluka, too, and there will be a day when Killua and Gon _separate—_

(maybe once, maybe twice, maybe ten times, maybe _forever_ )

The thought makes his stomach churn, so Gon steps backwards once. “Uh,” he says. His voice feels too loud. Alluka looks at him _. She has piercing eyes,_ Gon thinks, _like someone who could see everything about you._ He clears his throat. “I’m—I’m gonna go see Mito,” he gets out.

Alluka frowns. “But there’s something you need to know,” she begins, but Gon is stepping backwards again, then again, and then he turns around and runs out of the house.

 

* * *

 

He does not walk into Mito’s shop with a smile.

Gon meets her eyes and he sees the knife tremble in her hands. He has seen the look before; he has seen cracked glass in her hands and wine spilled over the table.

She offers him a shaky smile, and it feels a lot like deja vu. Or perhaps not.

He smiled when he had left four years ago; today, he is not smiling because everything has changed.

Mito had cried four years ago, and today she is surrounded by people who love her.

“Brooke,” she says. Her voice does not waver. “Please, would you take care of the shop for a few minutes?”

“Of course,” says Brooke, who is seventeen years old, so different from the little girl he remembers.

Gon remembers a frilly pink dress and introversion, and now all he sees is a girl who handles Mito’s knife with care and works with vigor. She has a pink bow and the same pretty aura as always, but things feel different.

Perhaps he could even be friends with Brooke, today.

Or maybe he has just never looked properly.

“Gon,” Mito says, beckoning him over to the back room, “come here.”

Gon follows. Mito quietly shuts the door. They stare at each other for a long while. Mito loves him, Gon knows, but does she know him? He does not know her, either. The thought is uncomfortable.

“So,” Mito says, breaking the silence, “Where’s Killua?”

“With Alluka,” Gon responds. “They’re in the house.”

Mito frowns. “That girl said she’d be in town!” she mutters, brows furrowed.

“She lied, apparently?” Gon shrugs his shoulders. “She said there was something weird about you when you looked at Killua.”

“Oh.” Mito sighs.

“But, uh, that’s not important,” Gon continues. “I was just thinking, and—”

“Are you leaving again?” Mito asks.

“Actually,” Gon says, “Actually, I’m not sure.”

Mito bites her lip. “And why is that?”

“I’m _sixteen_ ,” Gon says, words tumbling out with frustration. “I—I can’t be carefree, anymore.”

“And?”

“Things don’t feel as simple anymore,” Gon says.

Mito hums. “Is that so bad?”

“What?”

“Oh, sure,” Mito says, “Your strong point has always, in some way, been your blindness towards things.”

“My _what_?”

“You see things with a very simple view most of the time. It makes you confident.”

Gon groans. “I’m not exactly confident right now,” he says, and it surprises him, because he just sounds so whiny.

“Sometimes it’s good to be simple,” Mito continues, “but if you look at things not-so-simply sometimes, you can learn things.” She frowns. “Sometimes there’s no right answer, and you just have to accept that and go with your heart.” Mito levels Gon with a stare.

He swallows. Even in his mind, he can hear the sound of the ocean. It is like if beauty were a sound. Like laughter and fresh air and—

He’s got his heart stuck on it. He’s obsessive and things aren’t simple but if he closes his eyes he can make things simple again.

“Well,” Gon says, “I want to adventure.”

Mito hugs him tight, and Gon hugs her back, because he loves his mother.

“So,” she says, “so, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

Mito smiles. “You seem happier now,” she says. “Is it…”

“It’s Killua,” Gon responds. “It just feels good? To be around him?”

“I know,” Mito murmurs. “That’s what it’s supposed to feel like. Killua’s a good friend, isn’t he?”

Gon sinks into the warmth of her hug. “I…” he says. “I just like him so much.” _An important person,_ Gon thinks, feels the weight of it settle on his shoulders.

“What are you waiting for, then?” Mito asks. She extracts herself from his gangly limbs, and slides her hands up to grip Gon’s shoulders. Her eyes are shining, and Gon wonders if it’s only because she’s about to cry. “Go find Alluka and Killua. If she’s found what I’ve been hiding, you’ll be alright. I...I should’ve given it to you four years ago, but I didn’t know how.”

She takes in a deep breath. “I was three when he left. He said he wanted something, but I never knew what. And then…ten years later, he came back with you. He gave me something and told me to give it you when you were a Hunter. I tried to throw it away a lot, but never really managed to.” 

Gon does not get mad at her. Something deep and remorseful just sinks into him. But he pushes it down, because he has an entire future in front of him. “Will, uh, will you see me leave?”

Mito nods. “Whenever your ship comes around, I’ll be there.” And then she scowls. “When you find Ging, punch him in the face for me. He’s a ridiculous _fool_ , Gon, he’s the human embodiment of _garbage_ , what with him running off and handing a kid to me and running away from his responsibilities—” She smiles. “Promise?”

Gon mulls it over for a total of two seconds, nods, and then he breaks out into the biggest grin he can manage. “Thank you!” he yells, and then he is off like a bullet, because he has something to find.

 

* * *

 

Alluka holds a small box in her hands. It is covered in metal, like little shutters. She tosses it up into the air.

When Gon enters the room, she smiles at him, catching the metal box with a practiced grace.

“Mito is alright, isn’t she?”

Gon nods. “She’s fine. I...think she would’ve given it to me eventually.”

Alluka tilts her head. “Probably. I just really wanted to find it, and Nanika wouldn’t stop nagging me about it. And, well, her instincts aren’t wrong. Neither are mine.”

She tosses the box to Killua. “So,” he says. “What’s it for?”

“Mito says she was supposed to give it to me after I passed the Hunter Exam,” Gon answers. “Want to open it?

“Funny thing,” Killua says. “I don’t know how. Mind if I try to twist it open?”

Gon nods, and Killua tries to twist it, with no avail. He tosses it back to Alluka, who catches it without flinching, and it’s the only reason why Gon isn’t worrying about the box’s condition. Then again, he probably wouldn’t treat it too gently, either.

“That’s not an ordinary box,” Killua comments

“Oh, sure,” Alluka says. “Nanika says it’s got an aura.” She jumps down from the counter, and her feet hit the ground with a thud. Gon sees the glass on the top shelf wobble.

“Watch out!” he cries, and instinctively, Alluka’s body glows with a white aura, flaring up before it concentrates into a barrier. She throws her hands over her head, and the box tumbles out of her hand, breaking into pieces. A blue blur passes him, and he sees the fine china caught in Killua’s hands.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she murmurs, and Killua carefully places it back to where it belongs.

Gon looks at the box. The metal casing has broken into little steel plates. There’s another box inside, which is mercifully intact. “How’d that happen?” he asks.

“It’s certainly not something you can break with sheer strength,” she says.

“Then you’d break it with _Nen_ ,” Killua finishes.

“Happy accident, I guess,” Alluka says. She grins, and Gon remembers she is so much younger than him.

Gon picks up a steel plate as Alluka grabs the box. Turning it over, he sees a familiar pattern. “Yeah, I’ve seen this kind of thing before.”

“Really?” Killua asks. “Where?”

“I was really reckless when I first started learning _Nen_ , so my mentor tied a promise thread with this same kind of pattern around my finger,” Gon explained. “It would snap if _Nen_ was used.” He chucks the plate at Killua. “See?”

Alluka hands the box over to Gon, and he sees a little slot at the bottom. He rummages through his pockets and finds his Hunter card. He always keep it with him; it reminds him of where he wants to be. He slides it in the slot and box pops open with a flourish. Inside is a cassette tape, a ring, and a video game memory card. Gon has the console for it; he’d bought it once when he was bored and spent hours at a time on it. He doesn’t use it much, anymore, but he thinks it’d be more enjoyable with a friend.

“Let’s listen to the tape first,” he decides, and they go up to his room.

“Be careful,” Killua says, as Gon sticks the cassette in. “Any of this could be dangerous.”  
“You think Ging would hurt me?” Gon asks.

“You can never be sure,” Killua answers, and Gon agrees. Killua presses the play button for him, with a careful kind of touch that makes Gon’s heart soar. _He cares about this,_ Gon thinks.

“Yo, Gon,” a voice says. _This is my dad’s voice,_ Gon thinks. _It feels important._ “So you became a hunter too?” There’s an awkward, embarrassed laugh.

Killua sits next to him, leaning on his shoulder, and Gon leans back, just a little bit.

“Anyways, I have a question for you,” Ging’s voice continues, unaware of the pumping of Gon’s heart and Killua’s soft breathing and Alluka, silent but beside him nonetheless. He realizes that this moment would be worthless without them.

“Do you want to see me?” Ging asks, and Gon laughs. Like he hasn’t wanted that his whole life. Ging has no idea who he is, has no idea how much of Gon’s life he’s been in. And yet he’s done this, like he has read Gon’s mind.

He hasn’t read Gon’s life, though. He doesn’t know everything that has brought him here.

“If you do, keep on listening,” Ging says. Gon glances at Killua. He’s studying the VCR with a piercing gaze. He glances up at Gon, and smiles.

Gon’s eyes shine. He turns his attention back to the VCR.

“I'm guessing that’s a ‘yes’” Ging says after a pause. “Then I’ll ask again; are you prepared?”

“You’re going with this, right?” Killua asks. “This is everything you’ve wanted, right?”

 _And you,_ Gon thinks. _I wanted everything about this and you._ He nods.

“Hunters are selfish creatures,” Ging babbles. “They’re willing to sacrifice anything to get what they want.”

 _So you sacrificed me?_ Gon thinks.

Ging asks him if he’s fully invested, and Killua snorts. Gon stares at the VCR, waiting out the minute in silence.

“The pattern on this ring,” Alluka says. “Same as the steel plates. Think it does the same thing?”

Gon doesn’t break his focus.

“Could be something different. Be careful with it, and maybe listen to this?” Killua responds. There’s something in his voice that makes Gon want to turn and look at Killua’s face, but he knows that if he moves away, Ging will never let himself be found. He hears Alluka put the ring back in the box and scoot closer.

“I guess you really do want to see me,” the cassette says. “But I don’t want to see you. I don’t know how I could face you now, after choosing desire over parental duty. I’m a bad person.”

“No shit,” Killua mutters, vicious, and Gon is reminded of Mito.

“By the time you hear this, at least ten years have passed. But one thing hasn’t changed. I’m still me. As you listen to this tape, I’m off doing reckless things. If you want to see me, find me. But as I said before, I don’t want to see you. If I sense you nearby, I’ll make myself scarce. Catch me if you can. You’re a Hunter, aren’t you?”

Gon thinks he can live up to that challenge.

The next minute passes in a blur. Gon closes his eyes. Ging is asking about his mother. Things are simple, in this case. Mito is his mother; he does not ask about that. All he has to do is find Ging. The tape then starts rewinding, and Killua punches it out of frustration. And Gon is bitter, but he remembers every word, and he knows it’d be too easy to find Ging with that tape.

He smirks when he hears Killua grumbling as he pulls the memory card out of the box. “You’re dad is crazy,” he tells Gon. “God, he’s such a douchebag. Why do you want to find him?”

Gon shrugs. “I feel like it.”

Killua sighs. “C’mere,” he tells Alluka and Gon, inserting the memory card into the JoyCon. “Look at this game.”

“I’ve never heard of the game _Greed Island_ ,” Alluka remarks. “Also, can I take a better look at that ring?”

“Go ahead,” Gon tells her.

Killua squints at the screen. “Hey, Alluka, can you read the fine print?”

“I’ll do it,” Gon says, “I’ve got good vision.”

Gon’s eyes slowly crawl over the text. He reads, “ _Greed Island_ is a game that takes you into a new reality! Enjoy it with your Happy Meal for limited time, sold only in this shop!”

“Oh my god,” Alluka says. Then he bursts out into laughter. She holds up the ring. “There’s—there’s a Mcdonald’s insignia hidden in the pattern in the inside of the ring, this comes with the game, I would know, Killua always gets Chocorobos and squeals whenever the insignia is gold, he’s so obsessed with them—” She just keeps laughing.

Killua flushes. “I’m not obsessed!” he protests, and then shrugs. “But uh, she’s right. It’s pretty ridiculous. Your dad’s clue is a Happy Meal.”

“Mito called Ging a ridiculous fool, so, uh,” Gon replies, smiling, “it’s really not that unexpected.”

Killua frowns. “The actual game is missing, though. We’ve got to find that. Only Deluxe Happy Meals package this kind of stuff. So if we want leads on which McDonald’s sold this, and where we might find these games, we’d have to check out all the rich places and big cities.” He sighs. “That’s gonna take a while. Are you up to it?”

"Oh, no, don’t worry about that,” Alluka says. She points to the green stone on the ring. “I’ve been reading about _Nen_ in different objects, because, well, I was wondering if it had anything to do with me. Anyways, this jewel right here is known for storing _Nen_. And what’s more, these stones are local to Yorknew, and they’re extremely common as ornaments or jewelry.” She smirks. “If you wanted to hide things from normal people, you’d do it like this.”

“Yorknew’s only got one big and famous city,” Killua says. He sighs, pulling out his phone. “This game is probably worth millions, dear god.”

“Nanika says the ring is safe,” Alluka announces, and tosses the ring to him. He slides it onto his finger. It fits like a charm.

“Fuck,” Killua says. “5 billion Jenny. Well, I guess I know where we’re going."

“Yorknew City, huh? I’ll check the ships going there.” Gon says.

“Yorknew City,” Alluka affirms.

From the corner of his eye, Gon sees Killua grinning.

 

* * *

 

The three of them watch the stars that night, because Whale Island is the most beautiful place to see the night sky.

“I’m gonna go check some stuff out at the shops, okay?” Killua says, and then he dashes off.

The absence of Killua is slightly unsettling, but Gon feels at home here underneath the stars. What’s _really_ unsettling is the way Alluka’s been staring at him.

“You can say what’s on your mind,” Gon says.

“Oh!” Alluka gasps, startled. “Well, it’s not really much.”

“But it’s bothering you?”

She moves closer. “Yes, a little bit. I can’t help but feel that I’m getting in your way.”

Gon sits up. “Why?”

“Well, I’m not as skilled in _Nen_ as you are—”

“Killua likes you,” Gon cuts in.

“I’m not quite as good at handling myself, though,” Alluka confesses. “I don’t have the strength for dangerous situations.”

“I don’t know you,” Gon tell her with honesty, “but you’ve got passion, which is good enough for me. Doesn’t passion mean you’re brave enough to love something with all your heart?”

A low rumble, like crashing waves, sounds beside him, and when he turns to the noise, he is faced with a pair of black eyes.

“Passion is dangerous,” Nanika says with a wry smile.

Gon swallows. “Do you two always change that fast?”

“Practice,” Nanika responds. “Also, if you hurt Killua, I’ll make you suffer. Got it? Suffer.”

Gon nods. “I don’t think I would.”

Nanika stares at him. “You could be a very bad thing,” she warns.

Gon looks up at the stars. “Anyone has the potential to be bad,” he says. “And anyone has the potential to be good, I think.”

Nanika smiles. “Then we will see.”

She pauses. “Alluka will be fine. Don’t let Killua grow too clingy with her.”

Gon grins. “Isn’t that what siblings do, though?”

“Not if Alluka wants to learn how to handle herself,” Nanika replies. “And be careful with your bloodline. It is a powerful heritage.”

“Wait, _what?_ ”

“Anyways, good talk,” Nanika says. 

Then Alluka is blinking up at him again. “Sorry about whatever she said,” ALluka mutters. “She blocked me out, for some reason.”

“Something about bloodlines?” Gon says. “That’s really it.”

Alluka shrugs. “She’s really old. Either it means something that she can’t say outright, or she’s teasing you because your facial expression right now is hilarious. My bet is the second one.”

Gon remains dumbstruck for another second and then he breaks out into laughter. Alluka laughs with him, and the stars shine down on them.

Killua returns a few minutes later with a pack and some sleeping bags.

“I figured you’d want to stay here,” Killua says by way of explanation, “and Mito made me bring these.”

“Tired already?” Gon asks. Alluka grabs at a sleeping bag and tucks herself in. It takes less than a minute for her to fall asleep.

“A little bit?” Killua says. “I can stay up if you want me to.”

“No, no,” Gon says. He snuggles into his sleeping bag and thanks Mito. The warmth is soft around his bare arms. “Want to talk about anything?”

“I don’t know,” Killua says, voice muffled by the pillow he’s buried his face in. “Be more specific.”

“Alluka and Nanika are cool people,” Gon says. “You have good sisters.”

“Water is wet,” Killua responds, “your dad is awful, and I’m going to sleep if that’s the most interesting thing you can think of.”

Gon laughs. “The ship tomorrow is early, so yeah, go ahead and sleep.”

Gon closes his eyes. He will wake up in six hours with the sunrise, and his adventure will begin again.

 

* * *

 

Mito shakes him awake. “Go brush your teeth,” she tells him.

“Killua?” Gon mumbles, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

Mito smiles. “I thought I’d let him sleep a bit.”

“Alluka?”

“Already at the port. She’s with Brooke and all your luggage.”

Gon turns towards Killua and rubs his eyes. Killua looks so at peace under the faintest morning light. Gon stares over the cliff and at the orange peeking over the water. Killua snores, unaware. Something in Gon’s heart melts.

“See?” Mito says.

“Yeah,” Gon whispers.

But he’s still a kid, so he crouches next to Killua’s ear and hollers, “GOOD MORNING!”

Killua shoots up, tangles himself in his sleeping bag, and glares at Gon’s direction.

“Well,” Gon says, backing away as Killua kicks the sleeping bag off of him, “he’s awake now, oh Killua, good morning, I’ve really gotta go b _ye_ —” He runs away.

Killua catches up with him as Gon enters the house, and knocks at his head. “I can’t believe you,” he grumbles.

Gon hums, and they both get ready together.

The walk to the town feels far longer than normal. Faces pass by him, and people smile at him, and Gon focuses on his heart beat and Killua next to him.

Alluka is waiting at the ship with their bags, as promised. The sun rises, coloring the sky orange, pink, and purple.

“We’re going to find him, right?” he asks Killua, trying to erase that little bit of doubt.

“Trust me?” Killua asks. Gon squeezes his hand and nods.

“If anyone in the world could track him down, it’s us,” Killua says. He laughs. “We’re the dream team.”

The board the ship, and the captain gives them a wave. “Nice to see you traveling again, boy.” He grins. “Travels are always better with a partner or crew.”

Gon nods, small smile trying to contain all the feelings his heart is bursting with. He thinks if this feeling was a color it would be like this sunrise, oranges and purples and that little glimmer of gold if you look close enough.

Brooke and Mito wave him goodbye. Gon waves back with the hand that isn’t holding Killua’s.

The boat moves along the water, and Gon thinks he will never get enough of this rush. He’s a Hunter, isn’t he?

The assurance and  the acceptance of the title beats in his blood like it was tailor-made for him, like he was born to breathe this feeling and stand side by side with Killua. He thinks that this is what fate feels like.

Killua grins at him. “Don’t get motion sick.”

“Hey, Killua, you won’t have a soft bed to sleep on anymore,” Gon says, because he is selfish and hungry and does not rest and does not apologize for what he is.

Killua scoffs. He squeezes Gon’s hand. “I’ll be alright.”

It is the two of them and the world, Gon feels, suddenly, and there are people he will grow to love, but Killua is the one person he will never leave. There are words for this, Gon thinks, but he doesn’t need words to feel a feeling.

The sun rises high into the sky, and Gon laughs because he thinks he is _finally_ living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been listening to "when will my life begin" a lot lately. tbh the title was almost something else, but?? i really like this title and for now let's just saying i'm foreshadowing for a later title. because i am. i've always got something planned.
> 
> i always have trouble writing gon and killua so i hope i did them right? 
> 
> as always, find me @ sonnets-of-beauty !!!


	7. because you're worth it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s got a literal superhero stuck in his head, and it’s driving him insane. Kurapika is… beautiful, in a way that a lot of people aren’t. He’s got this blond hair and the flashing eye (and _holy shit_ , they literally flash and it’s terrifying but also really cool) and his smile is soft and kind. And, Leorio’s the polar opposite of him. 
> 
> He’s staying in place while Kurapika’s looking towards a future that might work out for him. And the fact that Leorio even believes that Kurapika will be fine is a testament to how much they differ. Leorio, is, like, failing at every single part of life. Kurapika is moral and compassionate and ridiculously nice. Leorio once told an old woman to fuck off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!! im back!!  
> this chapter has a scene that's basically depicting a panic attack, and there's a little bit of like, blood. it's one of my favorite scenes, but it was also really painful to write because well, panic attacks aren't fun. if you want to skip over it, just skip when you see the scene that starts with "disgusting." the next scene begins at "he's sad"  
> there's an explanation for why this took so long in the end notes, so you can click to there if you want!  
> i really hope you enjoy this chapter, because it's the point where my writing got readable in the original, and it's much easier to edit because of that!! also it's just a favorite of mine

He woke up today and he knew it was going to be a bad day.

Leorio cruises forward, eyes set on the road. Frankly, he has no idea where he’s going.

He’s got a job next week, so maybe he’ll be productive for once in his sad life, but for now, he’s just being lazy like usual. He’s been doing this for the past few weeks; driving around aimlessly, left with no sense of purpose.

Yorknew isn’t even that pretty to look at. His eyes take in the sights; screaming, angry business calls, eyes on the pavement, hurrying through crossroads. Tall, tall buildings, security, pretentious revolving doors, and thousands upon thousands of windows. The business sect of Yorknew is rough, as it always has been. It’s like sand from the other side was picked up by the wind and everyone got it in their eyes.

Not that there is sand on the other side. It just feels like there is.

He doesn’t like it; the way that the cart vendors and bazaars literally just appear halfway into the city. It should be jarring, but the place feels like it was made to be that way. _There’s something wrong with this city,_ he thinks. It lives in its own private world, untouched by outsiders.

They can’t see it. They can’t see _anything._ Their eyes are glued to the roads, eyes tuned to the _click clack_ of tapping feet, mind focused on work and work alone.

People think it’s admirable, the dedication. Leorio calls it what it is; worthless. There is no _drive_ behind that occupation, no _dream._ There are just numbers; figures, lists, forms, and the world moves on.

At this, he laughs. He’s just the same. He _has_ to be the same (unless he’s _him_ , but he doesn’t think anyone could be _him_ ).

Leorio feels alone in this sea of day-to-day gray. He _is_ alone.

This day irritates him; it exhausts him. It blares with such intensity that he can do nothing but sigh. The light from above reflects upon the glass window panes, and it seems like the city is shining, cloaked with a light that blinds his eyes. He doesn’t know how to describe it; the way it feels might resemble wading against the tide, or sloshing against cold mud.

Something is wrong with him.

It _must_ be him, because the world seems to have done others justice. He’s the only one who seems to be lagging behind when others seem content with their business.

Leorio lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. The world is born of winners and losers, of exceptions and averages, and he is born to his fate. He is not going to change the world.

He makes enough money. He’s not dead yet. He’s not even in a miserable situation.

He just _feels_ like he is.

People like Kurapika are the type to be exceptional. They are strong and brave where he isn’t. He would be better off leaving things like world-changing to them.

Leorio sighs involuntarily. Another red light. He’s hit like ten already. He’s not mad, just irritated at the fact that that the entire universe has pretty much conspired against him, and he figures that he has a right to be bitter. Granted, he might be exaggerating, but that doesn’t make his situation any less pleasant.

He just really wants to scream today. He wants to lean into a wall and then bash his head against it. He’s just so fucking emotional today and there aren’t tears welling up in his eyes, but it feels like if he bleeds there’s going to be black slime oozing out of him.  

The red light flicks back to green, and Leorio makes a sharp U-turn, tires screeching.

“Hey!” a woman screams from the sidewalk, high-pitched and furious. “That was dangerous!” Her arms are waving frantically to get his attention.

“I don’t give a flying fuck,” he mutters in response, glowering darkly.

He really _hates_ thinking about Kurapika. It’s been two days and the wound of their conversation is festering. Thinking about him feels like there’s a parasite latching on to him, only it’s spewing out impossibilities.

He slams his foot on the petal and speeds away. There’s an outraged shriek, and he winces at the pitch.

He’s biting his tongue. Everything hurts so much.

His dreams? Hopes? The meaning of life?

Leorio just needs some goddamn sleep.

 

* * *

 

It disgusts him. The air is pungent and musky, filled with the sickly sweet scent of floral air freshener. Leorio can’t figure out for the life of him why people love smelling flowers. If they smell anything like this, the entire world must have a terrible sense of smell. He sniffs the air again, and makes a gagging motion. It makes him _sick._

He falls onto the bed. He stares up at the ceiling. His vision feels like its swaying, and he can feel a headache coming on.

He hates feeling like this.

Leorio shivers, curling himself up into a ball. Something inside of him has settled to the pit of his stomach, and he takes in a sharp breath. His clothes are dirty, and the bed he’s sitting on is rumpled. He hasn’t taken off his shoes. He needs a shower; he needs something, a breath of life and love, _something_ —just _anything_ to get away from _this._

It’s _eating_ him.

He curls tightly into himself.

_It’s back._

He doesn’t know how or why it happens. He’s just sad and angry, and it does.

The vines are crawling up his spine, and he hunches his shoulders, squeezing his eyes shut. The tendrils are thin, and they slither along his arms, blooming in dark patches of crimson and purple. Leorio gasps for breath, but something has curled around his throat, tightening into a sharp coil that leaves him devoid of sound.

He can’t _breathe._ Leorio tries to scream, but the words refuse to form, and instead, his eyes well up and tears roll down his cheeks. The world around him seems to lose focus, and his fingernails dig into his palms, and trace around the skin of his hands, making indents everywhere he goes. He glances down at his hands, body trembling and shaking in fright.

_Red. Red. Red._

_Blood._

The air and the scent swells around him and he sees in a dizzying array of shades, like the colors when you stare a camera flash straight in the eyes. He tucks his head between his chest and his knees, taking big, shuddering breaths. He’s not sure when the tears began, but they’re not ending.

It _hurts._

He wraps his arms around himself, and his fingernails dig into his forearms, struggling to find a grip. The sky has closed around him and he can feel the scent drawing closer, weighing the air down in a wave of heat and humidity.

 _No,_ he tells himself, and his fingernails dig deeper into his arms, drawing blood. They drag down towards his hands, and the sharp pain that ensues holds him to the ground.

He takes a deep breath, making sure to not breathe in with his nose. After exhaling, his fingernails remove themselves from his arm, unfolding from the tight position they were in. He breathes in again, sucking in air with a loud gasp, and uncurls from his position slightly. He touches his hand to his heart, and breathes in again, trying to steady the tremors. Shakily, he stretches out, exhaling. He drops his shoes by the rumpled bed, and walks into the bathroom, eyes set straight forward, even if his vision is blurry.

His heart is still beating fast.

It’s cleaner here. The air reeks of disinfectant and the tiles are blindingly white from being scrubbed tediously, but it’s oddly pleasant, and Leorio breathes in through his nose, trying to settle his frayed nerves. He shrugs off his clothes, letting them fall on the floor, and steps into the shower.

The cold water hits him, and he closes his eyes, letting droplets of water drip onto his eyelashes. He takes are bar of soap and begins to scrub the sore spots, breathing in the scent. It’s fruity and refreshing, and for the first time today, Leorio feels like he’s on stable ground. He hums lightly, embracing the harsh shock of the cold waters. It hits him like bullets; his skin is stinging, but the dull pain helps wash his thoughts away.

Leorio stares at his feet, watching the ripples of the water in the shallow pools that have appeared in the tub. He tries not to concentrate on the shade of orange that the water has, and cleans his arms and palms with renewed vigor.

Once satisfied, he steps out and grabs a white towel, drying himself. Parts of the towel have turned into an ugly red color, and he tries not to look at the blotches. He rubs the towel against his skin roughly, making sure to soak up all the water. He bends down under the sink and opens a cabinet, grabbing a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a tissue. He pours out a few drops and dabs the tissue on his wounds, hissing at the sting. He bites his tongue. He trashes the tissue a few minutes later, and checks his fingernails for any dried blood that might still be there. He meticulously picks it out with his nails, even though his fingernails are short and stubby. He then grabs the bandages and wraps them around his arms and hands.

Leorio leans forward above the sink, and stares at his eyes. He’s got pretty horrible bags under them, he notes. Turning away from the mirror, he steps out of the bathroom and grabs a pair of comfortable clothes from the closet, and changes into them. _Clean._ He kicks the discarded pile of clothes to the side, and they form towering misshapen piles at the corners of the walls.

 _Later_ , he thinks tiredly, and sinks onto the bed. The bedsheets are uncomfortably rumpled, but he’s dead-tired and desensitized to the world.

Sighing, he closes his eyes and lets his mind slip into a realm of darkness.

He needs some sleep.

He doesn’t want to wake up.

 

* * *

 

He’s sad and he hates everything, and he wants to stop being sad and hating everything, but he can’t.

Leorio collapses on the steering wheel, staring up at the traffic light through lidded eyes. _Red_. He can't help but be annoyed at it, even though he isn’t running late to anywhere. He’s not even going anywhere. He did his job and got out. He’s going home, but home isn’t really much.

It’s none of that. It’s got nothing to do with him feeling like shit all the time. He’s annoyed at red for much different reasons.

He’s got a literal superhero stuck in his head, and it’s driving him insane. Kurapika is… beautiful, in a way that a lot of people aren’t. He’s got this blond hair and the flashing eye (and _holy shit_ , they literally flash and it’s terrifying but also really cool) and his smile is soft and kind. And, Leorio’s the polar opposite of him.

He’s staying in place while Kurapika’s looking towards a future that might work out for him. And the fact that Leorio even believes that Kurapika will be fine is a testament to how much they differ. Leorio, is, like, failing at every single part of life. Kurapika is moral and compassionate and ridiculously nice. Leorio once told an old woman to fuck off.

Kurapika always worms his way into his thoughts after a panic attack. It’s strange how he seems to do that.

Thinking about them in the same room should make him feel sick. Kurapika should be the exact type of person he despises. Instead, it’s all weird, and a headache has been killing him since morning.

“I’m going to honor my entire fucking family,” Leorio grumbles, pitching his voice high. “Oh, I’m going to have _morals_ and be compassionate and be nice to this loser who can’t see straight even while he’s wearing glasses.”

 _Kurapika is way too good to care about you,_ Leorio tells himself. _It's not like he’s going to remember you._

Talking with Kurapika was— _is_ a onetime deal.

Except—

Except, well—

Kurapika had asked him questions. Had wanted answers. Had talked right back to him and whispered in a soft voice that still makes Leorio melt when he thinks about in. Kurapika makes him want to just collapse and talk to him without the rest of the world.

Leorio is in love with Kurapika’s voice, probably. It’s a very good voice. He’s not in love with Kurapika.

But he is interested in him. Because he likes talking to Kurapika. And maybe Leorio is making up an idealized version of who Kurapika is in his head, even though Leorio has no problem pointing out his flaws.

He’s awkward with words. Only he speaks with such conviction and purpose and _drive_ that Leorio’s considering the idea of _trying_ again. Motivational speaking is not a flaw; Leorio can only call it a flaw because he himself hates it.

When Kurapika’s awkward, he kind of shifts his eyes away and ducks his head a little. It’s not that big of a flaw. It’s kind of cute.

Kurapika is mean. Only Leorio’s kind of a dick, and Kurapika’s entire family was murdered, and he has an actual sense of justice.

He’s—he’s a little obsessed. With Kurapika’s—well, _him_. The way he walks and the way his hair moves and the way his eyes shine no matter what color Leorio thinks they are.

It’s hard not to fixate on the way that Kurapika looks. He looks—well, he looks _good_. And if Leorio’s not thinking about that, he’s thinking about the way Kurapika had settled down and let the words come naturally. Everything between them was awkward and tense, but the words right then had flown like a river. It’s stifling him. There’s anticipation, because Leorio knows if they meet again, there’ll be two bits of silence, a little bit of stilted conversation, and then _gold_ at the other end.

It’s the first time he’s felt lost in someone. It felt like being held tight in an embrace, and he hasn’t felt that in a while. He’d been caught in a split second, at the little tilt of Kurapika’s smile. He doesn’t know how to find his way out of that.

That night, he’d stared at the hypnotic scarlet color of Kurapika’s eyes and it seemed like the world had grown brighter. Then, Kurapika’s voice had grown softer, and Leorio had fallen asleep.

And Kurapika had asked him not to go. And he left. And that was the end.

Leorio knows everything will go back to normal soon enough.

People and their connections break; they come and go with the tide, with little to no importance.

The traffic light switches to green.

 

* * *

 

 _I can’t get him out of my head,_ Leorio realizes. It’s 5 AM and he can’t stop wanting to talk to Kurapika again. Kurapika’s not something out of reach. He’s right _there_.

The possibility leaves him breathless.

 

* * *

 

He’s waking up again.

Waking up is never fun.

Waking up means he feels his weary bones and unsaid words stuck in his throat, and that he wants to feel like laughing but doesn’t feel like it.

Waking up means he is thinking about long-forgotten feelings and whispered promises that mask lies.

Waking up reminds him that he is lonely.

Leorio wonders why he bothers getting out of bed each day. If he stays here, maybe he would turn to stone, a statue frozen for the eternity of time. He’d probably be worth more as an art piece than a person, anyway.

He groans, and lifts himself off the bed, blindly stumbling towards his closet. Leorio manages to fumble around on the nightstand and pick his glasses up, so he jams them on his face crookedly. He stares at his closet, and picks out a navy blue suit.

He hasn't worn this one in a long time, Leorio notes. He hasn't needed to wear something this formal in a while. He doesn’t know why he’s wearing it now.

Leorio blinks. The world around him seems to come to focus, and the colors are so much clearer now. He takes a long look around the room, hyper-aware.

_Disgusting._

He ignores the thought.

Ignoring it leaves him feeling strange, but he pushes it to the corner of his mind and focuses on unwrapping the bandages around his arms and hands. The wounds have faded into small cuts, as they always do. He steps into the shower and lets the warm water run down his back. Leorio absently trails a finger down his arm, tracing the small indents in his skin. There’s little pink spots all over his hand. The water feels cleaner than usual. He hums softly, and routine overtakes his mind.

Once he’s sufficiently cleansed and dried, he steps out of the bathroom, smoothing over the wrinkles on his jacket. He stretches, hands interlocked and arms raised towards the sky, and falls, touching his toes. Leorio decides to take a new pair of shoes for the drive, and quickly checks to see if he’s forgetting something. Leorio actually doesn’t have anything to do today, but something feels missing, so he surveys the room, trying to find something out of place.

He’s never felt so good. At the very least, he hasn’t felt this good in a while.  He takes in a long, deep breath in contentment and jolts in shock. The air is missing its normal scent, and he only can feel a faint whiff of anything at all, but it smells only like spring breeze. Hesitant, he sniffs the air again.

It’s gone. It’s truly _gone_. He scrambles toward his nightstand.

The air freshener has dried up. It lays there, knocked over—no doubt from the search for his glasses—and the substance it used for the room is gone. Leorio blinks furiously, unsure of what to think.

He’s not sure why, but it feels like a revelation. It’s just—when he’d tried to throw it away, he couldn’t, because everything had felt disgusting, with or without it, and it felt better to hide everything and feel awful inside.

And now it’s just gone. It’s gone, and Leorio hasn’t solved a single one of his problems, but somehow he feels better. All he wants to do now is keep wanting something.

And that’s a strange feeling.

With nothing else to do, Leorio decides to slip on his shoes—the nice, dressy ones—and get his car keys. He spins the car keys in the air, pacing around the room. They make a pleasant dangling sound, clacking together as they whip through the air.

He needs some fresh air. And not the stale air inside of his truck. He needs to be in a real place, with real people.

The keys land in his hand, weighty against his palm.

“Alright,” he mumbles, resigned to his fate.

He feels strange again. He’s talking to empty air.

There’s nothing empty about it.

First, there’s one more thing he has to do. He slips out of his dress shoes, hangs up his suit, changes into a pair of casual clothes, rolls up his sleeves, and gets to work. It’s not fun. But it feels better, later, when he’s dumped a load into a washing machine and the rest of his clothes have been dumped into a hamper or ironed and folded or hung up in the closet. Somewhere in the middle of it, he’d found an old speaker of his, hooked it up to his phone, and now there’s music that seems to bleed through the walls. It’s three hours past when he’s at a point that he feels comfortable. And so, he takes a shower.

Leorio puts his suit back on. He slips into his nice shoes.

The suit doesn’t fit quite right. But it hangs around him like a comforting ghost. It will fit eventually.

On his way out, he tosses the air freshener into the incinerator.

 

* * *

 

 _I’m here._ Leorio draws in a long breath, staring at the golden insignia from the windshield of his car. He looks down at himself, checking for wrinkles or stains. Maybe his suit looks weird.

 _Weird people go to McDonald’s all the time_ , he tells himself. _There’s nothing to be afraid of._

 _Hahahahahahhahahahh I have EVERYTHING to be afraid of,_ Leorio thinks. He’s almost in hysterics, and he’s not even out of the car.

He exhales, leaning back against the seat, and then exits the car and walks down the road, trying to act as casual as possible.

Touching the doorknob, he suddenly realizes that Kurapika’s shift is most likely over, considering that it’s 6 PM and there’s no way his shift lasts that long. Before he can change his mind, he’s already opened the door, and his feet follow suit.

Now that he’s not busy staring into the depths of nothingness and wallowing it pity, he takes some time to admire the layout. The place is surprisingly well-kept for a fast food chain. The lighting is white, which really shows off how clean the floors are. It’s much unlike the dim, yellow-tinted lighting of many places that make him uncomfortable. He moves towards the counter in what he hopes are long, self-assured strides, but the woman regards him with a funny look and he gives up on acting like he knows anything.

He leans over the counter with a tiny sigh. “Hey, can I get a…” He trails off. Leorio quickly scans the menu, getting more flustered by the second. He glances quickly behind him.

He’s very happy Kurapika’s not here; he thinks that he would die of mortification otherwise.

The woman taps his shoulder. “You look like you need a McFlurry.”

Leorio turns towards her. “Huh?”

She shrugs. “It’s basically a milkshake,” she explains, mistaking his surprise as confusion. “You seem like you need one. And also a nice day.”

Leorio eyes her with suspicion. “Calorie count?” He doesn’t comment on the fact that she basically just told him, _wow, you look miserable._

She waves her hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter. Besides, you look like you could use the calories.”

“Hm.”

She sighs. “If you care that much, just google it.”

“Nah,” Leorio says, “I’ll have one. How much does it cost?”

She doesn’t answer, and in less than a minute, she has a Mcflurry in front of him.

“Here. It’s on the house.”

“Oh—thanks,” he says.

“Leorio takes the Mcflurry from its place on the counter and pops off the lid. The spoon is a disconcerting and unattractive fusion with a rectangular straw, and he wraps his fingers around the handle, unsure how to go about eating it.

She snatches the spoon from his hands, and throws it blindly backwards. It lands in a garbage can behind her, clattering with a sharp sound.

Leorio kind of wants to clap. He’s never seen that actually _work_.

She hands him a normal plastic spoon out of nowhere. “Listen, that’s supposed to like. Conserve the amount of plastic we use,” she mutters.

He digs in cautiously, fidgeting. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this awkward.

“How is it?” she asks.

“Disgusting,” Leorio answers, and then stares at her in horror after he realizes what he’s just said.

She laughs, and extends her hand out. “Pakunoda. McDonald’s does not exist for its wonderful quality of food.”

He takes her hand and shakes it, surprised at the calloused feel. If she notices anything about the marks on his hand, she doesn’t say it. “Leorio. Don’t you work here?”

Pakunoda smiles. “Nice to meet you. Everyone knows McDonald’s is terrible, so it’s worthless to pretend we’re a luxury delight.”

Leorio quirks an eyebrow. “Thanks, I guess.”

Pakunoda leans slightly over the counter. If she’s trying to show concern, it doesn’t work, because her expression hasn’t changed in the slightest. “You don’t look so good. Something wrong?”

He gulps down the ice cream in his mouth, and the cold shock hits his head. “Uh…”

“It’s not good to skip meals, you know.” She says, looking at the clock. “You should eat healthy, if you want to get your strength back.”

“You work in a fast food chain,” Leorio points out wryly, smiling.

Pakunoda nods. “And? You look like you need the help.”

“Hm…” He eats the ice cream thoughtfully.

“You know, I’m pretty sure we could offer you a position here,” she comments.

“Nah,” he responds instinctively. “I want to be a doctor.”

Her eyes widen. “A doctor?’

Leorio nods, uncomfortable, but Pakunoda gives him an easy smile and he calms down.

“So,” she asks, grinning deviously, “What’s a doctor doing in a fast food chain?”

“I’d rather not,” he says. It feel like the tiredness has washed over him again, and he twirls the spoon around contemplatively.

“Fine by me,” Pakunoda says. “You look like you need to talk to someone, though. You definitely looked like you wanted to talk someone when you entered.”

“Uh,” Leorio says. He swallows.

“Hit the nail on the head, I’m guessing,” Pakunoda says, like she knows it’s not even close to a guess.

“Hey,” she starts, but she doesn’t finish the sentence. She looks at the clock again. “My shift is almost over, so you might want to leave soon.”

He nods, and makes his way to the exit, Mcflurry in hand.

“Good luck!” she calls out. “Visit again!”

Leorio wants to turn around, but he can see people beginning to flock towards the place, and he exits hurriedly, raising his hand in a wave.

His steps feel lighter, and he clutches the Mcflurry tightly.

 

* * *

 

Leorio does visit again. To a casual observer, the frequency of his visits would be worrying.

“How’s my favorite dude doing?” Pakunoda asks. It’s their 15 minutes of conversation, starting at 5 PM, before she opens and lets the rush in. Right now, she’s sweeping the floors.

Leorio wrinkles his nose. “Don’t call me dude.”

“I can be cool if I want to,” Pakunoda says. “Dude. Bro.”

“I’m dying,” Leorio says. “You sound so old. You’re 26.”

Pakunoda smiles. “I just like messing with you,” she says.

“Speaking of,” Leorio asks, “why did you even talk to me?”

“New people don’t come around a lot,” Pakunoda answers. “Also, you seemed like you were looking for someone.”

“Well, I was,” Leorio agrees.

“And you won’t tell me who it is.”

“It’s kind of obvious,” Leorio says. “I don’t want to go into too much detail.”

Pakunoda hums. “If you say so,” she responds.

A minute later, she tells him, “His shift starts at 11.”

Leorio rests his head on the counter. “I hate my life,” he bemoans.

“Oh, hush,” Pakunoda says. “It’s a lot better now.”

 “Why do I tolerate you?” Leorio asks.

“Free food,” she answers, and glances at her watch. “Time for you to move along, now. How did that job interview go?”

Leorio groans. “Awful,” he says. “I don’t want to talk about it. And it's for a residency.”

"You get paid. It's a job." Pakunoda pauses for a moment of thought. “You could always take a spot with me, if you wanted,” she offers.

“And you know I won’t do that,” Leorio says. "Doing a residency gets me like. An actual license."

She nods. “The path to being a doctor seems to filled with pain."

"And coffee."

At that, she smiles. "Want to go hang out after this? We can watch Parks & Rec, and you can tell me about how much you pine for my favorite employee.”

“Well, when you put it like _that,_ ” he drawls, “how could I refuse?”

“You’re not denying it,” she points out.

“I’m not pining,” he says.

She grins. “I won’t push it, don’t worry. But you should talk sometime. Anyways, want to complain about that interview?”

“Thank you, thank you,” Leorio says. “After your shift?”

She gives him a thumbs up.

“You’re the greatest,” he says, as he walks out the door.

She smiles, and Leorio thinks that his life is on the right track.

* * *

 

“Do you think he’s pretty?” Leorio asks her, while the opening theme is playing. They’re both sprawled on the couch. Leorio pops a grape into his mouth.  

She raises an eyebrow. “Objectively, he’s pretty, I guess?”

“See?” Leorio says. “That’s normal. I’m not—I’m not _pining_. He’s just a good person, and I like talking to you, and I think I’d like talking to him a lot.”

“ _Sure_ ,” Pakunoda says, but she doesn’t continue the conversation.

 

* * *

 

Suit? _Check._ Address? _Check._ Car key? Check.

 _This could be the one_ , Leorio thinks.

 _The other ones could’ve been the ones as well,_ a voice nags from the back of his mind.

He banishes the thought.

He sends a quick text to Pakunoda, telling her he’ll be there after the interview. She sends back a succinct ‘K’, most likely flooded by customers.

He tosses his car key up into the air and the ring lands on his finger. _Okay, that’s probably going to be the highlight of my day,_ he thinks. The key and remote settle into his palm, and he slides his thumb over the surface.

He unlocks the doors of his car and gets in.

The drive is strange. The people on the streets have avoided his car warily ever since he veered off into a startling U-turn, but he appreciates the solace. Leorio taps out a beat on his steering wheel, hitting it with the side of his thumb and echoing with lighter taps from his index and middle finger. He’s worked himself into a comfortable rhythm—tapping once with his thumb and echoing with three, then tapping once with his thumb again and echoing with two taps—when he halts to a stop at a red light. His drumming continues, but it loses track and moves into an uncoordinated beat.

Leorio’s eyes are entranced by the glare of the light. The red is deep and vivid, beautiful in its alarming shade. He stares at the light, and it follows it as it floats free, darkening into crimson. It coils into itself like a hazy smoke, and strange pictures appear above the traffic light. Leorio can’t make any sense of it.

“Hey!” This time it’s a man, dressed in suit and tie, face red from anger. “Move it!” Leorio presses his foot down on the pedal, still in a daze. He blinks a few times, and notices that his drumming has stopped altogether. Shaking his head, he resumes tapping, and drives towards the hospital. _It’s only a few minutes away,_ he tells himself. _I’ll think about it later._ He exhales softly and lengthily, and picks up the pace.

They’ll want him to be punctual. They’d actually like it if he was a genius or a god, but that’s something Leorio is not, so he’ll have to settle for being good enough.

He stares up at another traffic light.

He has to stop seeing red everywhere. It’s not even the normal way someone sees red and starts fighting everyone and everything. Instead, he just… sees the color. And doesn’t stop seeing it.

A few minutes later, he parks carefully outside the building, and straightens his tie. Unclicking his seatbelt, he grabs a black briefcase from the passenger seat, and swings the door open. He hops out nimbly, and walks into the building.

The inside is surprisingly cozy. Warm music drafts in from a tiny music player, and the waiting room hosts chairs with a soft feel to them. He starts to hum along, picking random notes and holding them, simplifying the music into long, drawn out notes. He walks up to the counter, about to check in, but the man at the desk glances up with a soft ‘ _oh!_ ’ and waves him past.

“End of the hallway, by the left!” The man calls out cheerfully. Leorio stumbles a little, but manages to turn around properly and nod in acknowledgment. He turns away and strides down the hallway.

When he enters, peeking in through the door, a woman is playing the flute. Her hair is gray and coarse, and it reaches down to her back. She’s short, even for a woman, and by no means conventionally attractive, but she plays beautifully. Leorio can’t stop himself from humming along, and he steps into the room, letting the door swing behind him. The music calls to him, and he allows himself to be lost in the waves of notes, so much so that he doesn’t register the door clicking shut.

After a few seconds, the woman looks up. “Oh!” she utters. “Sorry, didn’t notice you. Sit down, sit down!” She gestures to the chair in front of her. “You must be Leorio Paladiknight.” Her voice is fluid and melodic, like a smooth-running stream. Instead of washing him away, like waves of the tide, it drags him in gently, pulling his mind into sharper focus.

He sits down. “You must be Melody.”

The woman nods. “I’m just going to ask you a few questions, so make yourself comfortable.” She lists off some general statistics for confirmation, and Leorio dully confirms them, trying not to yawn. After the quick initial barrage of standard questions, she slams her hand on the table.

Leorio straightens up.

“We got these formalities over with,” she comments.  “I’ll be honest, I don’t know Let’s continue. Though it might seem classic,” she begins, staring at her desk, “what makes you want to be a doctor so much?” Her voice seems genuinely interested, but judging by the way she’s tapping impatiently and how she refuses to make eye contact, he has no idea what’s on her mind.

“Well,” he says, preparing to run off into a long spiel of how it was his passion and dream and everything he has ever wished for, but he can see her glancing at him from beneath her eyelashes, and he decides against it.

He can hear it, faintly; a soft piano and violin arrangement floating in from the waiting room and his mind drifts back towards that night. He clears his throat quietly, and Melody looks up, meeting his eye for the first time. He keeps seeing _him_ where she is. Leorio stares into her eyes. He can see everything. Everything’s red.

“I won’t lie,” he promises, and it comes out as barely a whisper, carried on an empty wind. She can hear it. He knows she can hear it. The red has swept past her ear in a gentle rush, and it has filled her eyes with wonder. He takes in a little breath.

“I didn’t grow up in the best part of town,” Leorio admits. “My best friend has been long since dead, killed by a disease that was too costly to cure.” It sounds impersonal, even as he hears the bitter regret in his voice.

There are shadows in the room. The red turns into smoke and swirls around them. “And—I cared about him. I didn’t want that to happen again.” His voice is quiet, but it fills the room, and there are flowers blooming in the corners of his vision.

They don’t hurt.

“It’s a big reason for a not too big dream,” he tells her. “But dreams are strange things.”

He keeps seeing beyond. He’s not sure what around him is real, but none of it feels like a lie. “They come and go,” he says, almost tripping over his words as they tumble faster and faster out of his mouth, “like mirages, and you wonder if you were just lying to yourself all along.” He sounds like an idiot. He forges onwards. “But I kept coming back. And I’m here now.”

Melody smiles. “There are lots of doctors,” she murmurs. “There’s only one kind of each person.”

Leorio grins. “I’m pretty sure I can handle this,” he says. “If you’d give me that chance.”

“I think you’ll mesh well with us,” Melody answers. Her gaze darkens. “Death is not a thing that gets easier to deal with over time. “We are all afflicted with curses of various kinds.”

“This isn’t a normal interview,” Leorio comments.

“We aren’t in a normal world,” Melody answers. “Now,” she adds, “I’d like to show you around.”

"And?" Leorio asks, because she doesn't seem to be done.

"And you'll get your answer tomorrow."

Leorio gets up and follows her. The music player has petered off into nothing, playing white noise. The walls around him seem closed off, silent, quiet.

He feels good about this. The feeling pales in comparison to the night spent on shitty chairs and shitty tables, and yet, he feels as if the wind is rushing through him, almost like the overwhelming sensation he’d felt that night. _Thank you._ It lies there, settled on the tip of his tongue. It’s not enough. There are no words to describe it; there is no feeling strong enough. It just exists, with overwhelming power and beauty and he holds that strength tucked firmly in his heart.

He spends too many nights sleepless, and Leorio wonders if he is too afraid to dream.

One day, he realizes, as Melody leads him through the halls, he may love this place. One day, this place may be welcoming and filled with friendly faces. It may not look that way now, but time flows forward, and places change.

Time flows forward, and people change.

He takes a deep breath and follows her.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t stare at the ceiling like he usually does when he gets into bed. Leorio closes his eyes. He feels like there’s red everywhere. He feels like there’s warmth everywhere.

He has good news to tell Pakunoda tomorrow.

And—and maybe he has someone to visit, too.

When he falls asleep, he dreams of new things.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> l'eoriol: because you're worth it
> 
> jokes aside, here's the explanation!
> 
> hey guys!! thanks for being so wonderfully patient with me! i had a really long explanation before, but basically it boils down to the fact that i was trying to force a certain pov and plot that didn't work, and then. i didn't. and now this ch is here.
> 
> find me @ sonnets-of-beauty if you wanna scream at me, or you could do it here in the comments!


	8. red eyes dead eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurapika leans on the counter, staring at the clock—digital, because no one had the energy to read analog—right above the doors. He stares at the glowing red numbers, dimly comprehending that there are ten more minutes to Pakunoda’s shift, and irritably wonders why the clock numbers are red instead of blue, green, purple, or any other color in the entire world.
> 
> Many things are red. But to him, there’s only been one red that matters. Every other red is a dull, muted color. Every other red isn’t the scarlet he stares at in the mirror.
> 
> His eyes glow in the dark. The dead, severed eyes of his clan do not. There are some things that death does not preserve, some secrets that death keeps and keeps and keeps.
> 
> He registers the clicking sound of her heels hitting the ground, and stiffens. There’s still no one around. He’s just on edge. He’s miserable from yesterday and Pakunoda keeps staring right through him.
> 
> He can’t describe or explain the gnawing feeling in his belly. He can just feel the hurt and the headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow!! a 10k chapter!!! get ready to feel emotional
> 
> there's another panic attack here, sort of, and it starts at "There is light on the other side" if u want to skip it, just go to "I won't ask questions," and you should be fine?

This marks an entire month since Hisoka’s disappearance. Before, he’d pop in and out once a week and leave the place in worse condition than it was when he entered. And now he’s been gone for a month, and Kurapika should be relieved, but he’s instead saddled with an ugly feeling of discontent and unfamiliarity. It’s easy to watch Pakunoda take her shifts alone and it’s easy to do them alone, but he’s still struck with the feeling that something about being alone in the shop doesn’t feel right. He’s four hours in and the ugly feeling in his skin has only been spreading.

Somehow he knows Hisoka won’t be back. Earlier today Pakunoda had told him that Chrollo was talking a long, extended break from Yorknew City, and she’d stared at the ground as if she wished to disappear.

The air around him might feel lighter without the fear of having his boss walk in at any time, but the shop feels a lot darker this night. Chrollo may have left, and his dark aura might not touch this place again, but the place itself seems to have been stained with a malignant sort of poison.

He feels like he’s fighting a losing battle all by his lonesome. He has no cure for his troubled mind.

Not many people come to McDonald’s at this time. There might be a crazy straggler or two, or maybe a student with the eyes of someone who’s stared death in the face and told it… whatever students learn. Calculus? Kurapika never studied much. He knows things about the world. He doesn’t know math. Some would argue semantics and say that math is the world, but Kurapika calls bullshit. Math won’t save you from murder.

“Fuck you,” he mutters to the floor, in honor of Hisoka. He’s had a lot of time to get used to Hisoka’s disappearance. That doesn’t mean he won’t take every chance he gets to curse him out.

His paranoia makes him feel like a stranger inside his workplace. He wishes Pakunoda were still here.

“Fuck,” he says again. He just—not tonight. He doesn't want to be alone tonight. And he’ll be alone even if someone walks through the door.

If he’s being honest with himself, there’s only one customer he wants to walk through the door. But that person has been gone for a while now. And dwelling on something under the dark morning will do him nothing but terror.

Kurapika lets out a long sigh. Most nights he’s busying himself with exterminating spiders. Not this night. They scurry into corners if he so much as glimpses them. If he even manages to catch sight of them, that is.

He lets the chains dangling around his arm reappear, and wiggles his fingers around experimentally. They fly around in the air for a few minutes as he dawdles behind the counter, staring at the doors as if he could will them to open and, at the very least, let him do something. He goes through a series of stretches behind the counter, willing himself to stay awake.

Maybe he could just leave. The doors lay motionless in front of him. He can see nothing but darkness past the glass…

But he cannot see much of anything.

He sighs. If Hisoka were here, he could probably leave without any problem. It would be insanely awkward asking him to stay, and honestly Hisoka was— _is_ useless at his job but it at least someone would be there to… be there. And he’s scared of Pakunoda to walk out over an hour early. He supposes that fear is a testament to her character. Even the customers seem to be afraid of disappointing her.

Perhaps this idea—working late shifts at any random McDonald’s in the universe—wasn’t that great of a plan. Still, he knows this place is important. It’s located in Yorknew, after all, and Yorknew is where it all happens, where the secrets are hidden and the biggest of businesses take sanctuary.

And his paranoia, for all its consequences, leads to useful information. Thanks to being deep in anxious terror this entire shift, he’s able to notice how the very restaurant is tinged with eerie traces of _Nen_ , and the aura that radiates off of them is undoubtedly strong.

Pakunoda seems normal, but she seems to know too little for being so high up, and seems to know too much in inconsequential ways. No wonder she hasn't noticed much. And there’s no denying that the people working in this establishment are somehow superhuman. Hisoka is proof of that.

His fingers brush against the little slot behind him. It’s a secret he’d like to ignore. It’s something Pakunoda doesn’t even notice, or tries to ignore, and he wonders why it is.

There’s an aura there, dark and mysterious, that creeps out from the little slot he pushes the order through. His fingers tingle, sensing the raw energy, and he breathes in deeply.

Each mystery has a catalyst, and this feels like it might be it.

Kurapika might as well know what he’s getting into. This night cannot get any worse. He leans his head back. It aches, like all he’s been breathing for this shift has been stale air.

He presses his fingers harder against the slot, and a sharp jolt sends him reeling. Stumbling, he grabs the back of the counter in shock, trying to steady himself, and the cold touch of marble sends a chill down his spine.

_They’re coming._

The voice inside his head is not his own. A thousand dead souls scream at his ears. They tell him to run, to save himself.

 _You were lucky once_ , they cry. _You will not be so lucky again._

Kurapika scrambles over the counter and hits the tiled floor in an awkward tangle of limbs. He coughs, and sees smoke rising from his breath, black dust sweeping around the room, as dirt seems to flood the room, setting to ruin all of Pakunoda’s hard work.

_Fire._

Suddenly, his vision seems to click into proper place. And he sees the tiled floor, the bright white lights, and the darkness at the edge of his vision—and then he doesn’t. And then everything he could not see rises up with a terrifying, ringing cackle, and his feet give out from beneath him. He hits the ground. He rips one hand off the floor and holds it close to his chest, furiously scooting away. He hears the crackle of burning leaves and smells smoke, through his lungs, and he coughs as his vision is overcome with oranges and reds and when it all clears, only one thought remains in his head.

_The spiders are back._

He knows that this is not real. But the unreal things happen in his dreams, and he’s still in the floor of one horrifying McDonald’s, and both things are happening simultaneously and he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Kurapika squeezes his eyes shut—seeing is believing and if he can’t see maybe they’re not real after all and maybe he’s fine—but they are terrifyingly _there,_ tiny legs brushing across his exposed hand, trailing up his arm, a chorus of dissonant voices echoing in his head. He can hear and taste the fire all around him. He’s really, really there after all.

_Go!_

He tries to regain his footing and stand, but he loses his balance and falls forward. In his panic, he thrusts a hand forward on instinct, and he hears a sickening crunch as he hits the ground wrong with his wrist.  

_Run! Run! Do not look back!_

He opens his eyes and sees nothing but a shaky haze, and his gut twists. _Is this what he saw, what he felt when I was no longer there?_ He shuts his eyes.

The fire is all around, and everything in him hurts. He can taste the blood on his lips. He’s been biting down without even realizing, and in the cold of his terror and the dry heat of the fire, his lips are dry and cracked and they taste like metal.

He wonders if there is blood anywhere else _._ Kurapika shakily gets up on two feet. He needs to open his eyes and check, he _needs_ to, but—

He’s not even sure if he’ll be able to see again. He can feel pinpricks all over his legs, and he twists around, trying to shake them off, but his legs give out from beneath him, and he slips on the floor. Kurapika flails his arm, and manages to bang it on the table, to which he promptly grabs hold of, ignoring the bruise that is most definitely forming. Once he’s remotely steady, he kicks at the air, trying to throw them off, but the spiders swarm him.

He doesn’t want to check for blood. He doesn't want to bother with checking on himself, not when there are spiders all around him.

He cannot let them win, but he’s so, so weak, and he wants to run, but he cannot let them win—

The feeling on his legs multiplies and the pain doubles, and he can feel the sharp stab of their legs and it breaks through skin, and suddenly his fears overwhelm him.

He’s all alone.

There is just him on the tiles, clutching at the counter, and the spiders all around, and the doors that lead him away.

He needs to find the doors. He’s never needed anything more in his life.

Kurapika opens his eyes, and his vision is blurry, but with great relief he finds that it is still there. He whips his head around, trying to gain his bearings. He feels a pinprick on his hand, and he shakes the spider off in a motion that’s rough and makes his wrist ache. He’s breathing heavy and his eyes keep unfocusing. He’s not good at knowing what to do when he can’t see right.

He stiffens. There is smoke in his lungs and rage in his blood, but the only thing he feels in the air is his own fear.

_Fire, fire, fire—_

A blaze grows beneath his feet, and he cannot look away. Under him everything is black dust.

 _I have fire, too_ , he thinks, and he hates it.

Kurapika draws his hand away from the table and brings it closer to his body. He grasps the wrist gingerly with the other, trying to shake the feeling that’s crawling all over him. He limps toward the doors, ignoring the mess of tangled limbs beneath him. He winces at the sound, and then clutches his hand close to his chest.  
He shivers, and glances down at his hand _—how did it get here how did it get here how how—_

Kurapika is looking into the eyes of a spider. He stares in mute horror, and the spider stares back.

Everything comes into sharper focus. _Red eyes_ , Kurapika notes, as numbness washes over him, frost creeping in from his fingertips.

The eyes are pupilless and beady, and in the light, they glisten like scarlet raindrops. He can feel himself getting lost in a trance, staring at the hypnotic way the spider moves, limb after limb after limb. It dances up his arms, hairs tickling the cloth of his uniform.

Kurapika almost reaches out to touch it. Not to flick it away, or burn it. Just touch it.

_It’s beautiful._

Something dark and ugly twists inside his stomach, and he stares at his hands, smeared with spider blood, and his clothes, smattered with back dust. As he turns his head to face the spider on his shoulder, poison feels like it flows through his heart.

He reaches out a careful hand, and as soon as the spider crawls up a finger, he crushes it.

The silence keeps him still for only a crushing, weighty moment.

Then he throws the doors open and runs.

 

* * *

                                      

He hesitates before he opens the glass doors to the place, the next day. His eyes scan the tiled floor. It is spotless.

Pakunoda glances at him, eyes flicking over his slightly disheveled appearance. She’s tapping a pen on the counter, but she stops as soon as she sees him. The pen slides loosely into her palm.

“You’re here early.”

“Yeah,” he says, steeling his nerves, “yeah, I am.”

She taps his shoulder in an awkward show of comfort. “It’s fine if you left early,” she says. “Just don’t do it often, and just shoot me an email.”

He sighs heavily, leaning against the counter.

“I don’t ask too many questions,” Pakunoda says. “I’m not sure if it is a flaw or strength of mine.”

“Never been curious about things?” Kurapika asks. With Pakunoda in the McDonald’s, ease seeps into his body. Somehow her presence, though mysterious, clears the air.

“Pain resides in knowing too much,” she says.

“Pain is caused by everything,” Kurapika says. “But I like knowing things more than I do being kept in the dark.”

She shrugs. “I suppose it’s more of the fact that I’m used to it.”

Kurapika frowns. “That doesn’t sound great.”

“You look uncomfortable standing like that,” Pakunoda comments, and just like that, the discussion ends. She steps back. “Here, hop over.”

Kurapika obliges, jumping over in a swift vault, and finds himself staring at her, far too close for comfort. Pakunoda always seems to shift topics whenever she reveals more than one thing about herself. Despite spending so much time together, they rarely ever do talk much.

Kurapika isn’t sure if he wants to talk to her. She’s nice, but maybe she’s just polite. And she’s in the dark, but every once in a while she’ll look like she knows too much. And she hired him, and she’s technically his boss, but she’s also a coworker.

She’s not a friend.

The tension between them is palpable, and he feels like his words are being tackled and pulled into a chokehold. Awkwardness latches onto him like a strangler vine creeping up a tree.

“Having any trouble?” Pakunoda asks, always dangerously right.

“It’s annoying,” he admits, “being the only one.” _And lonely_ , he adds inside his mind, but he might as well have said it out loud, because a pitying look flashes across her face for an instant.

“You get used to it, after a while,” she tells him. “I guess… I’ve gotten used to many things.”

“That doesn’t seem right,” he says.

“Well,” she answers, “Things rarely ever are.”

“If you let them,” he replies, not trying to push, but not backing down. He doesn’t know why he cares, or why he’s pushing like this, but he does. “If you let them, things will always stay the same. You can always change things. You know that, right?”

She sighs. “It’s hard for me, but I guess that’s not a proper excuse.”

“No,” he says. “It really isn’t.”

“I will… try my best in the future,” she says, voice low and careful, like she’s making an important decision. Maybe she is. To Kurapika, it doesn’t feel like much.

She meets his eyes. “I promise I will consider your words,” she says. “I am sure you are a wise person.”

“Uh,” Kurapika says, “you don’t need to be so formal. I’m not… wise. I just do what I think is right.”

She smiles. “I tend to find wisdom in words and actions, not the person.” She hums for a moment before continuing, “I speak like this because it makes me careful.”

“Why do you need to be careful?” he asks.

She lifts her shoulders in a small and assuming shrug. “Same as anyone else. I don’t want to mess things up.”

“Oh,” he says, more to himself than anything else. “I’m not… good with words. Or people, really.”

“Neither am I,” she says. “More importantly, you seem to have something on your mind.”

“Right.” He’d almost forgotten. “Why don’t you work with a pair, Pakunoda?”

Nothing on her face shows, but something tells him he’s struck a nerve.

“I mean, I don’t work in a pair, but that’s because Hisoka’s gone,” he says. “But I’ve never seen you with another employee other than me, not even once.”

Her answer is curt. “Uvo is out doing other things.”

Kurapika files that name away for later.

“And… and you hired me?” he asks. “To cover for him? Because even with him here, you’d be a person short. Two people short, if Hisoka doesn’t count.”

“Ah,” she says. “That is a good point.” She stares at the counter and does not meet his eyes. “The boss decided I was enough.”

“To work two six-hour shifts all by yourself?”

She glances up at him and then looks away. “I hired you soon enough, didn’t I?”

He frowns, but doesn’t ask further. Because clearly she would have had to cover for his shift, because Hisoka is useless and might as well set the place on fire. And surely there must have been a certain amount of time, because Kurapika remembers that time.

But he doesn’t ask, because here he is, so clearly she must have realized that she couldn't do it all on her own.

“I had to fight to hire you,” she says, and then looks surprised at her admission. “The boss doesn’t trust fresh faces.”

 _Your boss is a dick_ , Kurapika doesn’t say, but it’s hovering at the edge of his tongue.

“Now I’m enough,” Pakunoda says, and she meets his eyes. “Now I’m enough, and it’s fine.”

She _is_ more than enough, she’s impassive and perfect at what she does, but something is off in the tone of her voice. Kurapika resolves not to push any further. There are other days, other questions, other answers.

“How do you pass the time?” he asks, and relief is written all over her face. He glances towards the door. The place around them has dipped into a lull, which is uncommon, but still a possibility.

“Most times I _am_ occupied, you know.”

“Not always,” Kurapika challenges. “And you manage this place; you must know some tricks.”

She smiles. “I guess I should, huh?” she murmurs, staring at the ceiling lights. “It doesn’t go easy,” Pakunoda answers. And she feels honest. “But every once in a while there are little bright spots. Little good days. Good friends.”

It’s… surprisingly good advice. “Thanks,” he says, but he sounds stilted and insincere.

She taps the counter in thought. “Good friends… they are valuable,” she says.

“I know,” he says. “I… know.” And he wonders why he doesn’t have any, and why he’s so awful with people.

“Get some sleep while you’re at it,” she commands, gesturing to his face. “Can’t work late hours on sheer willpower.” She offers him a half-smile.

Kurapika blinks, feeling a little taken aback by her kindness. It’s not like Pakunoda has never been anything but nice. He’s just not used to it. He’s not used to her.

“Thanks.” That sounds boring. And repetitive. The silence between them hangs like a boulder tied to his back.

She stares at him.

Thankfully, Pakunoda’s phone vibrates once, and then starts to ring, a standard phone jingle created for the sole purpose of being incessant and annoying. It fills the silence left behind, and Kurapika breathes a little sigh of relief. Her eyes narrow and she quickly slides her finger over the bottom screen, accepting the call.

“Kurapika, would you mind taking the counter a bit early?” she asks. “I’ve got some things I need to take care of.” Without waiting for a response, she dashes into the back room. He can hear a cheerful ‘Hi!’ greeting her, but Pakunoda doesn’t respond. Her shoes click behind her, thudding sharply on the cool marble floor, and he can only breathe easy once she’s fully disappeared into the back room. There’s something uncanny in the way that she stares right through his eyes, and Kurapika’s determined not to let her get to him.

The back room is nothing special, just a small changing room with a small cooler for breaks and refreshments. _Should have changed into my uniform_ , he realizes, feeling underdressed as he shuffles around, trying to busy himself with some motion in the empty place. The uniform isn’t anything like the garish reds and yellows Hisoka is often clothed in, but there’s a sense of normalcy and comfort to it that he’s craving. He then realized that Pakunoda took their only pen with her, and he makes a note to bring in some more, so nothing like this happens again.

Kurapika leans on the counter, staring at the clock—digital, because no one had the energy to read analog—right above the doors. He stares at the glowing red numbers, dimly comprehending that there are ten more minutes to Pakunoda’s shift, and irritably wonders why the clock numbers are red instead of blue, green, purple, or any other color in the entire world.

Many things are red. But to him, there’s only been one red that matters. Every other red is a dull, muted color. Every other red isn’t the scarlet he stares at in the mirror.

His eyes glow in the dark. The dead, severed eyes of his clan do not. There are some things that death does not preserve, some secrets that death keeps and keeps and keeps.

He registers the clicking sound of her heels hitting the ground, and stiffens. There’s still no one around. He’s just on edge. He’s miserable from yesterday and Pakunoda keeps staring right through him.

He can’t describe or explain the gnawing feeling in his belly. He can just feel the hurt and the headache.

But Pakunoda seems to be too absorbed in her phone call to notice his gloom. It is a blessing, and subsequently a curse, because the following events do nothing for his bruised and emotional state.

Her voice rises, carrying something like worry and perhaps embarrassment.

 _This is definitely not real_ , Kurapika tells himself. _Not real. Not real._

It is hard to say why he hates it so much. But he’s never heard so much life in her voice, and the brightness of it makes him uncomfortable. She’s always been a person with walls up, and Kurapika had assumed they were similar.

When he sees her like that, it makes him realize that she has another place outside this restaurant. Another life. And Kurapika feels like a stranger within the walls of the restaurant, even though it is the entirety of his life.

“You can’t!” Pakunoda cries out, flustered. “I’ve only got a few minutes left in my shift, anyways. And there could be people that walk in at any time, so it would be so much better to go, and, and take a nap or something and visit me tomorrow.” Her other hand nervously twitches, fingers fiddling with a pen.

The man’s voice—bright and cheerful—comes out loudly from the other line. _‘I’m already there!’_ the man crows.

“ _What—_ ” Instead of finishing the sentence, Pakunoda bursts out into laughter, and Kurapika feels the same crawling sensation of last night. It’s only now that he can pin it down as the sensation of _not belonging_.

He has never heard Pakunoda laugh, not like this. They talk like two locked safes and fill the air with nothing of importance. Kurapika averts his eyes.

He picks at the sleeve of his well-worn shirt. No fancy Kurta clothing today. No armor. Just him and the discomfiting silence. She’s at the register now, listening intently to the indecipherable sounds coming from her phone. He sidesteps her, and tries sneak into the back room.

The door swings wide open.

“Surprise!”

In Kurapika’s haste, he turns around without thinking, glancing wildly towards the direction of the voice. He freezes in place when he catches sight of the person who’d just burst through the door. And Kurapika stays like that, halfway to the back room, halfway to total mortification, caught in an uneasy sort of relief. His heart thuds.

“Leorio,” Pakunoda greets, as if just to reinforce everything that’s going through his head at the moment, “nice to see you again.” She’s wearing a soft smile as she disconnects the call.

 _He’s not here for me_ , Kurapika thinks, and an ugly, ugly feeling claws its way through his veins.

Leorio grins and embraces her in a warm hug. Suddenly Kurapika can see nothing but the warmth of his happiness, can feel nothing but his own beating heart and the tension building in him. He wants to reach out to him, touch his face to check if he’s real and ask him how he’s been, and what he’s been doing, but Leorio’s not here for Kurapika, and so he curls his fingers into fists and stands, like an intruder.

Leorio steps out of the hug, and he's grinning, grinning, grinning. “I got the job!” he exclaims.

Kurapika has never felt more like a stranger.

“I got an email, just today,” Leorio continues, “and they told me that I’d start soon, and said that my work and knowledge impressed them, and—” He breaks off to stare at the ceiling with an unrestrained smile. “And they _liked_ me, and they thought I was worth it.”

Kurapika has never seen Leorio so happy, so warm, so beautiful. But then again, he has never seen Leorio, not really. He met him once, fought with him, and spilled out his life story because he got too attached. And Leorio, like any normal person confronted with a stranger, had kept his secrets.

And they have not seen each other or met again.

Pakunoda is smiling wide, and Kurapika tries to draw his eyes away, but something inside of him longs for that closeness. Her eyes are twinkling, her posture is relaxed, and something in Leorio’s voice must be filled with sparks, because he feels like everything in him is buzzing. The electric anxiety within him has him terrified.

He has nothing like that. The two of them just seem to fall into easy conversation.

He tries to move away, away, and maybe he’ll jump out of this hellhole of a situation, but there are no windows, and suddenly the space is closing in—

“Kurapika, do you mind making a McFlurry?” Pakunoda asks, and out of instinct, he nods.

She rattles off specifics to him, and he moves mechanically to where the machine is. The words have passed through his ears and entered into a headspace where Kurapika can remember it but would not answer correctly if asked what she said.

Kurapika can feel Leorio’s eyes on the back of his head, staring straight through his soul. An involuntary shiver runs through him. _I don’t want him to look_ , Kurapika thinks, and stares at his shaking hands, and tries to keep his vision focused. He flicks the lever and watches the too-white cream land in the cup, and then places a cap on top of it, making sure the edges click properly together. Compared to the crisis of last night, his motor skills are doing much better. He keeps his head down and doesn’t move his eyes away, not for a second. Kurapika wonders just how awful he looks as presses a button, watching the oddly-shaped spoon swirl the McFlurry together. _Bad_ , he decides, refusing to think. _Probably stupid._

Schooling his nerves, he takes in a quick breath of air, and hands the McFlurry to Pakunoda. His eyes flash over to Leorio for a second, and Leorio is staring right at him. He flicks his eyes down to the register, the thought _don’t look_ repeating itself over and over again in his head. His heart hurts in the way it does when it beats fast. Slowly, he looks at Pakunoda, trying not to shrink into himself.

She seems slightly startled, but recovers quickly, and tosses the McFlurry over to Leorio, who fumbles with it before he can properly grasp it. Like it’s something he’s done a thousand times, he tosses the weirdly-shaped spoon into the trash can, and as it flies, it sweeps through the air in a perfect arc.

“Nice,” he mutters, and Pakunoda smiles for a split-second. She wordlessly hands him a normal plastic spoon, and he stabs it into the McFlurry.

Kurapika thinks it’s safe to look at the both of them. They certainly won’t be looking at him. He would not look at himself, given the choice.

“How has the sugar not killed you yet?” Pakunoda groans, but a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

Leorio hums, swirls his spoon around, and takes a bite. “Magic.”

“You look a lot better, though,” she tells him, eyes softening. “A _lot_ better.”

It’s true. Kurapika has been trying not to stare this entire time, but now that he’s looking, Leorio _does_ look a lot better. There’s a color to his cheeks and his presence seems to have grown larger, encompassing the entire room with brightness. It fits with the tone of his voice and the shine of his eyes.

Something catches in his throat. He’d been so self-absorbed about his own life that he’d never bothered to ask anything, when they first talked, not unless it related to himself or their fight. And he hadn’t bothered to care about Leorio’s state of mind or his health.

Embarrassed, he stares at the floor, biting his lip. He knows all of this is getting to him, and it shouldn’t.

They’ve barely talked. It’s been at least a month. And really, out of all the things that have happened to him recently, he shouldn’t be worrying about this or even thinking about this. _This is not getting to me_ , he thinks, in a futile effort to convince himself. But Kurapika wants to talk to Leorio, as little as they know each other, make him smile, and—

It _is_ getting to him.

 _This is not getting to me_ , he thinks again, like a liar.

Like most nights, his restlessness creeps in. It has reached new heights today, as now he feels it even when there are people in the room. Without his chains, his fingers feel empty, unrestrained. There is an itch somewhere inside his heart that he cannot scratch. He tunes back into their conversation. He wonders if he can walk away. He wonders why he hasn’t yet. His shift is going to start and he should be in the back room, changing into his uniform. He has a perfectly good reason to walk away. But he doesn’t.

Leorio might be that magnetic, or Kurapika might just get attached that easily.

“Your shift is ending in a minute, right?” Leorio asks, and she nods.

“Want to grab dinner? I know a place that’s got _real_ food,” she suggests.

“Wow,” Leorio gasps. “Clearly I’ve never had real food before.”

She snickers. “Yeah, yeah, I know this isn’t new or anything. But it’s a good place. Nice locals.”

Kurapika stares at the floor.

Pakunoda turns around. “Do you mind covering the last minute for me?”

“No, I don’t mind.” His voice is hoarse and it barely comes out as a whisper.

“Hey…” she begins, “about that conversation we had? Don’t think too much about it.”

Kurapika thinks too much about everything.

“I’m always here to help out if you need it,” Pakunoda reminds him, though she seems nervous. “You’re a good guy.”

The words coming out of her mouth do not feel like the truth. Kurapika has not talked to her for long enough to be a good person in her eyes.

 “Thanks,” he mumbles, and immediately feels self-conscious. Now he’s the one that sounds insincere. His voice isn’t carrying well tonight. He feels like he’s going to be sick and he needs this to end, fast.

Leorio has wandered off to the exit, seemingly engrossed in the shiny glass doors. He jumps back when a family of four push the door open, and Kurapika straightens up. He’s distinctly conscious of the fact that he’s still not in uniform, and he wonders why Pakunoda didn’t bother to point it out to him. He grips the counter in hopes that the support will help him stand straight.

“Hey, what can I get you?” he asks, pitching his voice a little higher, so it will sound soft rather than hoarse. He cannot hide the tiredness in his voice, though.

“Just—a moment,” the mother says, and the family devolves into a fast-paced discussion that Kurapika immediately zones out on.

Over his shoulder, he spots Leorio leaning on the wall of the building. Their eyes meet. Leorio is looking at him with a sort of strange expression, and Kurapika’s grip on the counter grows tighter.

“So we’re ready to order,” he hears, and glances down at a young girl.

“Right,” he says, and his voice comes out a lot sharper than he wants it. “What’ll it be?”

 _This isn’t fair_ , he thinks, acutely aware of his embarrassment, and he knows that the tips of his ears are probably turning pink. He writes down their order, and slips it through the slot, ignoring the suffocating feeling that washes over him when his fingers brush against it. And then he turns around, and starts drink-making.

A little after the family has left, food and drink in tow, he hears Pakunoda’s shoes clock against the floor. _Finally_ , he thinks, and that feeling leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Kurapika, you haven’t changed into your uniform yet?” she asks, sounding genuinely puzzled. “Never mind,” she continues, as he stares at her in silence. “I'll see you later.”

She does a quick vault—in heels, no less—over the counter, probably showing off, and as soon as she lands she’s already striding forward, pushing the door open and exiting in one fluid movement. Leorio follows after her, and the restaurant is quiet.

Kurapika breathes a sigh of relief.

He waits a few moments to see if anyone will pop in, and when no one does, he gives up all semblance of appearance. He hops over the counter, pushing himself upwards and dropping down on the other side with a satisfying thud. The silence, for the first time, is a comfort. It is an unfortunate kind of comfort, but it is comfort nonetheless. He sighs, and taps his feet, feeling the forest grow beneath him. There’s life everywhere, and even here, he can hear it, the groaning of the earth as it shifts under his feet, the whispers of roadside weeds peeking up to the sky, the bugs that run nimbly across the pavement. He knows how the dance goes, and when he closes his eyes, he’s dancing in the wild, wild forest. The oppressive dark is a little softer when stars hang overhead.

But as he collapses on the floor, he reminds himself that he is no longer there. Instead, the misery seeps into his skin and colors him with envy. If only the friend in his head was still alive.

 _If only I had any friends_ , he thinks, and the thought cuts into him like a piercing arrow. He has no armor to hide it.

He knows that his eyes are glowing red, because he feels like he’s going to cry any moment, and everything inside of him seems to have shriveled up and died.

Kurapika picks himself off the ground. He still hasn’t changed into his uniform. He should do that.

If he tries hard enough, and if he lies hard enough, he can count it as the bright spot of his day.

 

* * *

 

The odd straggler or two have finally left, and at the early hours of the morning, Kurapika allows himself a quiet yawn, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. Like he’s unraveling a thread, he pulls at the empty space around his fingers, and chains unravel from his fingers, a comforting weight on his hand.

He doesn’t know when it had felt better to just keep them there. But it’s a nice feeling, having something on his hand. It’s a bond he cannot let go of, and a constant reminder of who he is.

Maybe that is why he feels so lost without it.

He exhales, and leans back on the wall. His hand falls on the outer edge of the slot, and he recoils sharply, like a skittish horse. He draws his hand to his chest, and is hit with a sense of déjà vu.

He’s so lonely. He’s so afraid.

He knows that there is something there, something dark and terrifying and horrendous in that order slot. The full meaning of that knowledge hits him like a lightning strike. He is not safe here, he is not welcome here, and there is no one he can share his fears with. Pakunoda knows too little and does not want to know more; and what people does he know, anyways?

 _Nen_ is sliding through the walls and staining the ground, swooping down from the sky, feather-light, and as if in a trance, his head spins, and his feet draw closer to the opening. The chains slip free of his hands, crumbling into dust, and Kurapika tumbles to the ground, knees on the floor, eyes wide-open, seeing into the great unknown.

He can feel his envy bubble up within him, and his fear melts away, until his eyes see into the room before him. Everything in his periphery turns red—a hazy, bright glow that he recognizes as his own.

There is light on the other side, and it illuminates the kitchen. And he sees everything.

First: four arms, bound together with four hands and twenty fingers, sharp sounds piercing the air with cracking bones, fingers flying at inhuman speeds.

Then: arms with no shoulders to be bound to, arms ending with stumps of perfectly sealed flesh, stumps cut fine as obsidian.

 _Then:_ feet that turn dials, grip handles between their toes, cook with the speed of a devil, nails trimmed and polished with a clear shiny coat. Feet that have no legs to support, oil sizzling and searing through skin, burn marks that are desperately covered by layers of skin and stitching.

And: body parts, jerking around like they’ve been pulled by marionette strings, each seeming to have its own will.

But it is clear that this is someone else’s game. The way they move in sync is just a shade uncanny.

The dismembered parts are immaculate; little pieces of flesh patched together, woven by expert thread, strands of _Nen_ that bind each piece seamlessly into one whole. He can see the energy that crackles forth, and he stares in horrified wonder.

The scene is dizzying, oddly beautiful, and not a single drop of blood stands before him. He could not file a health code violation for this. It is too clean.

Kurapika’s vision narrows to center of the room, and there, a head stands, eyes wide and unblinking, mouth hung open, devoid of life. A sharp black antenna sticks out of the neck.

If he remembers clearly, the design of the other location is the exact same. Maybe not in other cities, but here, and there, the system must be the same. And someone is holding these pieces together. That’s not a good feeling.

He’s all alone.

His head feels like it’s going to burst. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to think under the pain that has slowly grown from there. He’s not good under a crisis. His blood is boiling and every cell of his body feels like it’s been lit up.

Kurapika hears a bell ring somewhere in the distance, and the door swings open with a slight creak. He shivers, too terrified to turn around, and rests his head against the wall, clutching his heart and trying to breathe.

He’s too close to the slot, but he can’t move, because then he’ll have to stand up, and then someone will see him, and laugh, and—

“Kurapika?”

 _Fuck_ , he thinks. He can’t even hide right.

He’s not lost anymore. This is what he wanted. He wanted to _know_ , and this is his price.

There’s a voice behind him but he doesn’t hear it. There’s a soft thud next to him and a shadow over him but he doesn’t hear or feel that, either.

Kurapika stares at the tiled floor. Everything in his vision turns to fire, and he can feel the phantom burns on his skin. The pain of his clan, his family—it is a hard kind of trauma to describe.

But it hurts all the same.

Voices. He keeps hearing voices. Kurapika curls into the dark. Any more and he will hit a breaking point.

Something brushed against his shoulder, and the lock in his heart shatters. A blood-curdling scream rises from his lips.

 _I keep living in fear_ , he realizes.

There are tears on his tongue before he even knows it, and he can taste blood, too, and smoke, thick in the air and obscuring his vision.

 _I can do this_ , he wants to say. I am strong enough to do this. But the space around him feels like poison gas, and it addles the state of his mind. The chains on his hands shake and start to dissolve. He curls his fingers into fists and holds on.

_I cannot do this. I am not strong enough._

He keeps doing this. Keeps showing weaknesses. He keeps pretending he’s good enough alone, and not a half-baked crust of a human. He does not know how to color his life with the rich vibrancy that his eyes offer. In that way, he is a liar. As everything around him seems to grow in emotion, the red in him bleeds bright and full of discontent, and his heart feels nowhere near the vivid place that it is supposed to be. He is stained with feelings, but none of them offer anything but pain.

“Kurapika?”

He doesn’t want to hear his name. The syllables of it sound distinctly tied towards his ruined home, forgotten to time.

“Kurapika?”

He thinks he is howling in pain like a hurt beast, but it sounds dull, distant. The ache in his head may just be misleading him.

The hand on his shoulder, first feather-light, tightens into a firm grip, and Kurapika spins around, hissing in pain. There is no blood, but it is too easy for him to feel wounded.

He’s looking into Leorio’s face. And Leorio is staring back, and his eyes are wide.

 _He doesn’t want to touch me_ , Kurapika thinks, shuddering. _I have scared him away. He thinks I am crazy, and he doesn’t want to be near me._

“Are… you okay?”

He laughs and it hurts his throat. The sound of it is a discordant, ugly thing.

“Okay, so maybe not,” Leorio mutters, and he moves a little closer.

“No.” The admission does not surprise him, and neither does the violence with which he says it. If Leorio comes and closer, he will only see more and more of Kurapika's flaws. The place where Leorio’s hand is feels like it’s burning, and Kurapika vacillates between finding it infinitely comfortable and infinitely painful.

“Okay, then.” And Leorio backs away, just a little. Kurapika still does not know whether he should feel good about it.

He registers a light thump next to him, and he turns his head to see Leorio, sitting next to him. He takes a long, shuddering breath, and shakily tries to stand, pushing himself up with his hand. _Away_ , his tired mind tells him. _Get away._

“Whoa there,” Leorio murmurs. “I don’t bite. Sit down, it—it should help you get in control of your breath.”

If Kurapika had the energy, he would laugh. _I cannot control anything_ , he does not say. Instead, he sinks back down to the floor, and closes his eyes, breathing in and out. It doesn’t make things better. His breathing is far to ragged for it to steady anytime soon.

But Leorio’s presence, though painful, seems to warm the air, and clear a little bubble of pure space around them.

“I won’t ask questions,” Leorio says, and Kurapika flinches. _It means he doesn’t care_ , a vicious voice in his mind whispers.

“I don’t want to push you,” Leorio continues. He is not looking at Kurapika. He is staring out into space, looking far ahead. “I know we haven’t talked much. I wonder if you even remember me.

“How could I not,” Kurapika mumbles, because somehow, telling him that is an involuntary reflex. “You were… _you_ ,” he says. “Couldn’t forget it if I tried.”

“I couldn’t forget you, either,” Leorio says, turning back to meet his eyes. And Kurapika wants to ask him why he never visited, or call him a liar, but the thoughts dissolve to dust as soon as Leorio’s eyes meet his.

“Fuck,” he mutters, curling into himself and closing his eyes. “ _Fuck_.”

He takes in a deep breath and wipes his tears away. He feels a little better. “I didn’t want to see you,” he says.

“Okay,” Leorio says, and then Kurapika realizes how awful that must sound.

“I didn’t want you to see me,” he corrects. “Now. Not like this.”

“I get panic attacks, too,” Leorio says. “I get it.”

He really doesn’t. But…

“Panic, huh?”

“Uh, yeah,” Leorio says. “Awful feeling. It makes me feel like I forget what’s going on around me. And then I’m not in control of anything at all.”

Maybe he does get it.

“Yeah,” Kurapika says. “That’s what it feels like.”

“The best thing, for me,” Leorio says, “is just to know there’s someone else in the room. It’s this grounded point of reality that you can focus on.”

Kurapika laughs. “That’s not a great solution for me,” he says.

Leorio must detect the bitterness in his voice, because he says, “You’ll figure it out,” in a calm and soothing voice.

 _Who does he think he’s fooling?_ Kurapika thinks. But somehow Leorio’s voice makes him feel better.

 _Me_ , he realizes, a few seconds later. _I’m the fool._ Because somehow it is working.

“What’s it like?” he asks.

“Huh?”

“Panic attacks. What are they like, for you?” Kurapika pauses. “That’s—fuck.”

“Uh—”

“Fuck, that’s private,” he rambles, “I really shouldn’t be asking that, not at all. Fuck, I’m—”

“It’s fine,” Leorio says, hurried. “I mean, okay it’s not, but if you don’t ask again it’s fine.”

“Okay,” Kurapika says. He breathes, in and out. “Okay.”

“Are you feeling a little better?” Leorio asks. “Even if it’s just the tiniest bit better.”

He smiles. “Thank you.”

“That’s not an answer,” Leorio says.

“I am,” Kurapika says. “I’m just… disoriented.” That is an understatement. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to think.”

“Then don’t,” Leorio says, and Kurapika turns towards him in surprise. Leorio laughs. “Seriously, don’t. That’s what I do.”

“That… doesn’t seem beneficial in the long run,” Kurapika says.

“Probably not,” Leorio says. “Just… for a little while, don’t. And then talk through it once you’re ready.”

 _What if I’m never ready?_ Kurapika thinks.

Leorio sighs. “I’m a doctor,” he says. “I should be giving better advice. I should be doing better.”

“I’m not bleeding,” Kurapika says. “What could you do?” What he doesn’t say is _I didn’t know you were a doctor_ and _how much have I missed out on?_

“True,” Leorio says. “But still. I finally see you again, and I’m mostly useless.”

“You’re not useless!” Kurapika cries, and then quiets as soon as he realizes just how loud he’d gotten. “Not at all. I was doing so much worse before you got here.”

“That’s nice to hear,” Leorio replies. He gestures awkwardly towards Kurapika’s face. “Those tears probably don’t feel nice on your skin,” he says, and looks away before Kurapika can say anything, staring at the ground

“No,” Kurapika says. “They don’t feel nice on my skin.”

Leorio coughs, probably trying to stifle laughter. “Right,” he says. “Don’t you… want to wash your face? It should feel better.”

Kurapika nods, even though Leorio can’t see, and makes his way to the bathroom. Washing his face makes him look and feel considerably better, but there’s no hiding the fact he’s been crying. But as he goes through the motions, his head feels clearer.

 _Why is Leorio here, anyways?_ he wonders, and realizes he probably came here to make an order, like most people. _If I take his order_ , Kurapika thinks, _there are two hours left in my shift. And then I can leave._

But Leorio is determined to make things hard for him. The second he steps out, Leorio motions him towards a table, plopping himself down on a seat, obviously waiting for Kurapika to take a seat on the opposite side.

“Aren’t you here to order?” Kurapika asks, sitting down. Staring at Leorio like this tugs at a strange, strange feeling in his heart.

“At McDonald’s? Never,” Leorio says, and Kurapika raises an eyebrow.

“Uh, okay, maybe I was going to order,” Leorio says, but beckons him back in his seat when Kurapika starts to rise. “As an excuse,” Leorio adds. “I might have ordered the last time we met, but now? I already had that McFlurry, too.”

 _So he acknowledges it, that we met_ , Kurapika thinks, and sits down again.

“An excuse?” he asks. For what, he can’t imagine.

“To see you again,” Leorio says. “To talk to you.”

And it should make him happy. And it does.

But Kurapika isn’t good at talking. He never has been. The building still reeks of apprehension, and Kurapika fears that he will be crushed under the weight of it, if he is not vigilant. Talking does not sound good for any of that.

But the table is conveniently far, far away from the kitchen, so he might as well stay here.

“Huh,” he says, mulling over Leorio’s words. “Huh.”

“You want to ask ‘why now,’ don’t you?” Leorio murmurs. “I’d be a little angry, too.”

“I guess,” Kurapika says. He hadn’t really thought about it. The sheer relief at knowing Leorio had wanted to talk to him does not leave room for anger. Maybe he should be angry, but he is not sure how to be.

“I know I’ve been gone for a while,” Leorio says “But even if we did fight, I really liked talking with you.” He meets his eyes, carefully. “And I’d like do that again. Just minus the fighting.”

“Me too,” Kurapika says, keeping his voice quiet. He does not want to break the soft sort of air that has settled around them. He does not know how to handle the sound of Leorio’s voice when it is so kind, so nice.

“I want you to know that I wanted to meet with you again,” Leorio says. “And that’s why I’m here.”

And he sounds like the truth.

And Kurapika should be more focused on the problem at hand, because the truth is that corpses are cooking fast food, but his pitiful heart decides to hang on to Leorio’s words instead of thinking about it.

 “You wanted to meet with me?” It’s barely a whisper, but Leorio hears it anyways.

“Why not?” He shrugs, but Kurapika can see the smile on his face. “You were sort of cool.”

“I’m _way_ cooler than you,”

Leorio grins; the world is at peace with itself.

 

* * *

 

“You always seem to be here when no one else is,” Kurapika says.

“Oh, you think so?”

“Yeah,” Kurapika answers. “I’m working off a sample size of two, but yeah.”

“Guess I’m lucky,” Leorio says, and he’s smiling.

Despite Kurapika’s nerves, hesitancy, and envy, Leorio makes it too easy. Their conversation is no natural, and it’s not comfortable, but it’s soft, and Kurapika finds his footing in the space between them. They talk about lots of things, like Leorio’s college experience, and Kurapika laughs the whole way through as Leorio recounts horror stories from his time in med school. And when Leorio finds out the Kurapika’s never been to college, he devolves into jealous grumbling, only half-joking with his passive-aggressive comments.

It is then that Kurapika tells him, “But you forgot to mention you were a genius,” and Leorio turns red.

“I am _not_!” he cries, denying the claim with such vehemence that it sounds like Kurapika has offended him.

“Sure,” Kurapika drawls, “only you’re twenty-three, already out of med school, and you just landed a job.”

“I mean, it’s technically a residency,” Leorio says. “And I wasted an entire year because the first time, I didn’t get matched to any.”

“Still,” Kurapika says. “That’s faster than a normal person.”

He shrugs. “My birth certificate was messed with, so I entered school early. That’s really all there is to it.”

“Why are you so adamant about denying your own worth?” Kurapika asks. He is not angry, just curious.

“The same reason most people are,” Leorio replies. “Because they think they’re not good enough.”

And they leave it at that. It is a loose thread they can pick at another time, but not now, not when everything is still so new.

Kurapika finds out that he likes to talk about things that don’t shake the world. It is nice to have that. The conversation flows through its lulls and the places they can barely say two words before tripping over themselves in excitement, and then before he knows it, an hour has gone by and they’re laughing, bonding over their hate for certain corporations. And then the topic falls back to McDonalds, and then Pakunoda, as Kurapika offhandedly mentions her in an anecdote of his.

“Paku’s pretty amazing, isn’t she?” Leorio asks, admiration shining in his eyes.

And Kurapika glosses over his jealousy, because even if he wants to be talked about like that, this is their second conversation. He shrugs. “She seems fine.”

“I mean, you seem to be on good terms,” Leorio says. “She mentions you sometimes.”

“She does?”

“Yeah?” Leorio looks at him quizzically. “You just mentioned her. Why wouldn’t she mention you?”

“But that’s—”

“It’s not different.” Leorio really is insistent. Kurapika somehow doesn’t hate it. 

“I just haven't really talked to her much,” he mumbles. “So I don’t know that much about her.

 _“_ Wait. Hold up. You _haven’t_ talked to Paku? _”_ His voice is incredulous, and even though Kurapika knows he means no harm, something about it makes it feel like he’s being attacked.

“We don’t work the same shift,” he replies defensively.

“Still, it’s a little strange, I guess,” Leorio muses. His eyes have a far-off quality to them and Kurapika shifts nervously, hoping that he’ll drop the topic where it stands.

“She seems nice enough?” Kurapika offers. “We just don’t interact often enough for me to be close to her.” He hopes that will be enough of an answer. He just wants to reach a point where Leorio can just forget it. His problems with Pakunoda are a little too complex to dig into during these late hours.

“I can introduce you,” Leorio says.

“I… _already_ know her,” Kurapika replies.

“Sure, that might be a little weird, but if I were there, then it might be easier for you to talk to her!”

“I’m not good with people,” Kurapika says.

But Leorio seems set on the idea. “Yeah, so if it’s all three of us, it might ease your nerves,” he explains. “Paku might seem scary to other people, but she’s nice.”  
“I know she’s nice,” Kurapika. “And she doesn’t just seem scary. She is scary.”

Leorio snorts. “She texts me cat pictures,” he says.

And that makes the jealous feeling rise up from where he’s buried it. He knows it’s an unreasonable and ugly feeling, but he can’t help it. For a woman he’s so wary of, she seems to really be a good person. And Kurapika doesn’t like that.

“Talking to her is really calming, actually. It’s like she knows all the answers, but she’s also really…” Leorio rambles on, and Kurapika sighs.

He doesn’t mind it, objectively. But he’s never been objective. Kurapika’s strengths lie in being as subjective and as petty as humanly possible.

“Alright,” he says, shrugging with a half-smile, “I guess we could do that sometime.”

“Great!” Leorio says. And Kurapika is unsure of how to change the subject.

“Kurapika?” His voice is too soft. Kurapika is immediately set on edge.

“Yes?” _Do not fuck this up_ , he yells in his head. _I will not fuck this up_.

His voice falls to a hush. “Well, uh,” Leorio starts, swallowing nervously, “do you want to tell me what happened back there?”

Kurapika’s smile falls. “I’m okay,” he says sharply.

Leorio looks at him.

Kurapika looks away.

“That’s not what I asked, and you know it,” Leorio says.

“It’s not something I’d like to talk about.” His voice quavers. He wants Leorio to drop it, and forget it, and suddenly he remembers that he’s in the same building as animated flesh. So much for not thinking about it.

“I know.” Leorio’s voice cracks. Kurapika stills.

Leorio clutches at his heart like something is hurting him, and he breaths deep. “I know we haven’t talked much, I _know_ that, but I want you to trust me, because if you bottle this up, one day you’re going to explode, and I don’t want—”

“You _don’t_ ,” Kurapika says, and Leorio freezes.

“I don’t… what?”

“You _don’t_ know me,” Kurapika says, very still, refusing to meet his gaze. “So don’t tell me what to do.”

“I need,” Leorio says, and then shakes his head before trying again. “I just want you to be okay.”

“And I _am_ ,” Kurapika says, and he meets Leorio’s eyes. He’s lying, but this isn’t about that. 

“You’re _not_.” Leorio really is insistent. Somehow he hates it.

“I _am_.”

“You’re not, and you know it, and you should _talk_ to me—”

_“You don’t get to make that choice!”_

Kurapika screams it out in a rush, slamming his hands on the table and standing up. His vision is red again and it’s painful, because his head and heart is pounding, and to top it all off, he’s thinks he might cry again. Maybe the fury will keep his eyes dry.

 _Guess what?_ he screams inside his head. _You fucked it up!_ He’s not sure if he’s talking to himself or Leorio. He’s just so, so angry, and he doesn’t want to talk about this. There’s no way that he’s ever going to let Leorio know, because what he’s seen is something that can’t be told, something that he’ll guard till the day he dies, because he is scared, and, and no one knows what he’s done or seen, and—

The rage leaves him in an instant. A sick feeling curls in his throat. “No,” he gasps, “no, that’s not it, that’s not what I meant—”

Leorio is silent, and Kurapika’s heart beats faster. He lowers his gaze and stares at the table in shocked, hurt silence.

Then suddenly, Leorio rises, and Kurapika almost screams in frustration, but his hands lay limp against the table, and he accepts it as the loss it is.

 _Killed it before it could start_ , he thinks, and then Leorio is hugging him.

His brain shuts down for a moment. He’s not sure how to feel with Leorio’s arms wrapped tightly around him, but it’s warm and kind and Kurapika sinks into it.

After the fire, he can’t remember hugging anyone.

“You’re shaking,” Leorio notes, voice soft.

“That’s obvious,” Kurapika says, and it sounds scratchy and meaningless. He reaches out with his arms and tries to reciprocate the gesture, and he wonders if it means something.

“Is your voice okay?” Leorio asks, because he is kind.

Kurapika lets out a shuddery laugh. “Yeah, it’s fine,” he says. “Sorry,” he adds, _sorry for hurting you._

“S’okay,” Leorio murmurs, and Kurapika sighs in relief.

After the fire, lots of things went missing in his life. Family. Friends. Touch.

Kurapika doesn’t think he’s realized the full scope of it until now. It feels overwhelmingly _right_ , being here, existing in this space, even as sadness colors the surroundings. There’s a warmth to it he doesn’t remember.

“I’m sorry,” Leorio says, “I think I pushed a little too hard.”

“It’s fine,” Kurapika says.

“You’re allowed to be a little angry,” Leorio says.

“But it really is fine, now,” Kurapika says.

“That’s good.”

They stay like that in silence for a moment.

“This is… new,” Kurapika says. “I’m not good at it,”

“We can work things out,” Leorio reassures, and Kurapika smiles.

The silence breaks when the bell behind them gives off a soft _clang_.

And Kurapika thinks he would do anything in the world just to stay in Leorio’s arms for the rest of his shift. But work is work.

“You have to let go of me,” he murmurs.

“You can still talk like this,” Leorio murmurs back.

“We’ll… talk, right?” Kurapika asks. “Later. More.”

“For sure,” Leorio promises.

“That’s—I— _thank you_ ,” Kurapika whispers. The calmness within him seems to burst into bright white sparks.

In the rush of euphoria, Kurapika thinks, _I have all the strength in the world I need._

He pulls away.

The high doesn’t leave him.

 _Oh_ , he thinks, fingers tingling with a magic beyond the realm of anything human, _Leorio isn’t going anywhere._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter? much happier, i promise
> 
> uhh i made a quick edit to the last chapter, just to clarify what leorio's doing are interviews for a residency, rather than like an actual job. keep forgetting med school is like. so so long.
> 
> comments are my lifeblood, hmu @ sonnets-of-beauty on tumblr at any time like usual
> 
> oh and for ref here are the vague ages for the ppl in this au
> 
> kurapika:21  
> leorio:23  
> pakunoda:26  
> killua:16  
> gon:16  
> alluka: 15  
> kalluto: 14


	9. a dear and indispensable friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh,” Alluka adds, deepening her voice for an illusion of grandeur, “look at that. The winds are changing.”
> 
> A breeze sweeps past them, Alluka grins, and Gon thinks she is right in all the ways that she suggests it.
> 
> “Two weeks until the auction,” Killua reminds him. “Are we going to be betting on the items? Or could we just… like steal it, maybe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was supposed to have this out a week ago and then i realized i had to prepare for school,, whoops?
> 
> literally i was going to.. lightly edit this and accidentally added 2k? like i didnt even add in a new scene. wild. anyways i actually cant stare at this any longer so i hope its good

****He’d been to Yorknew once, four years ago. It's a lot different than where he left it. Back then, everything seemed to be colored in cold grays, and all he remembers is pavement, dim lights, towers obscuring the sky. The ghost of it touches him when he looks down at the city from the ship, and it whispers _no Ging_ in the memory of chilly winter air, dirty snow lining the streets.

But he’s a lot different now. Now, Yorknew city seems to touch the sky, and it bursts to life, a mix of bazaars and skyscrapers, voices ringing out for bargains and shoes clicking down the pavement. The summer heat obscures his vision of the sky, and his hands are hot, hot, hot. His shirt is sticking to his back from sweat, and he hopes that they will land soon. The shadows of the buildings will surely be a little cooler than the sweltering heat.

He turns to Killua at his side. He is looking right back him, a soft prompt for him to speak.

He finds himself at a loss of how to describe it.

_It's oddly beautiful,_ Gon thinks. _Everything is, nowadays_.

And Killua smiles at him and doesn’t press.

Nanika claps her hands, a large smile on her face. “It smells like fate, Gon!” she says. “That is good for you, right?”

“You think I’ll find Ging here?” Gon asks.

Nanika tilts her head. “If you find him, you will find him,” she says, like the statement is something important.

“Well, whatever happens, happens,” Gon says. “I guess we’ll see.”

Nanika frowns, but she doesn’t reword her sentence or correct him. They get off the ship soon enough, and Nanika blinks back into Alluka as they both step onto solid ground.

“Nice to be back on land,” Killua says.

Gon shrugs. “I like the sea, though,” he says.

Killua frowns. “It’s easier to run away on land,” he says, and Gon nods in agreement.

Alluka smiles. “I love traveling,” she says. “It’s nice to see new places, isn’t it?”

And Gon finds that the _yes_ within him slips out easily, and it surprises him. But then again, traveling with them is just special like that.

“Oh,” Alluka adds, deepening her voice for an illusion of grandeur, “look at that. The winds are changing.”

A breeze sweeps past them, Alluka grins, and Gon thinks she is right in all the ways that she suggests it.

“Two weeks until the auction,” Killua reminds him. “Are we going to be betting on the items? Or could we just… like steal it, maybe.”

“We’ll see,” Gon says. “We might steal it. Might get some connections that let us get to it. Who knows?”

“Ah,” Killua says. “Information gathering, then.”

Gon nods.

Something crosses Killua’s face for barely an instant, and then he smiles at Alluka. “Don’t you feel excited?” he asks her, and she grins, bright and blinding, and Killua twirls her around. With his free hand he drags Gon close, whispering into his ear. “Look around,” he murmurs softly, and even softer, “I think we’re being followed. Pretend I said something funny,” he adds with a smirk.

Gon laughs without even trying.

_Killua is extremely good at lying_ , Gon thinks, _for someone who’s never seen much of the world—or never seen it properly_. He snorts at the thought, realizing the blatant hypocrisy in that statement.

Alluka is hopping with energy in front of them, playing the perfect part of an excitable tourist. Killua humors her, and they both smile at each other, half playing a part, half full of genuine love and excitement.

Gon feels the excitement thrumming within him, not just because of Yorknew, but because of the chase. It’s probably another assassination attempt, some sort of test by his father. Gon, of course, is sure that most of the tests are supposed to deterrents from meeting his father, but he doesn’t actually care about that.

“Killua,” he murmurs, tapping his shoulder, “Killua, I….”

Killua’s eyes are burning into him. “Gon?” he asks, soft, and honest, and Gon suddenly is ever-more aware of the presence following them. He clicks his tongue.

Alluka is right. Things are changing, and Gon wants Killua by his side always. Killua makes his heart swell and flutter in a way that Gon has never felt before. A little part of him is almost content with that, but he wants to explore more, know more, and that desire quells that part of him as fast as it comes. He wouldn’t dare to be satisfied with just this much. And a part of him even selfishly needs it.

He does not know how to word this to Killua, how to tell Killua how he makes Gon feel, especially with someone following them. He does not want that moment belong to anyone else but them.

So he just smiles. “I thought something, and I forgot it,” he says. “I’ll tell you later when I remember.”

“Was it important?” Killua asks, and his eyes dart over Gon’s shoulder for a flicker of a second.

Gon shrugs, and makes sure to meet Killua’s eyes. _Yes. Not now._

Killua just looks at him with this funny sort of expression—a cross between confused and satisfied and who-knows-what—and Alluka smiles knowingly.

“Well,” she chirps. “Let’s go explore already.”

“Right,” Gon says, and they continue.

He keeps walking, slower this time, and lowers his eyes, sinking into the aura beneath him, stretching far and wide for any telltale signs of _Nen_.

The first thing he notices are the pinpricks, little needles brushing along his skin, linked by thread that chains them to sturdy structures. They tingle across his skin like the feeling of his hand when he brushes away spider webs, soft yet itchy. The network of threads cover the city from top to bottom, meticulously covering the framework, left with no blind spots that he can sense so far.

It’s beautiful work. It is likely a person's way of tracking the people of importance traveling through this city. And considering how busy Yorknew is, it makes a good system. Gon’s not sure if he’s quite ready to fully let himself be prodded by the strings, and so, he sends a sharp spike of aura through one of the threads, a simple warning that he acknowledges its strength. Killua complies as well, and a little spark of electricity travels through the air. He lets out a sigh, and Gon grins, knowing he’ll be complaining about having to charge up again tonight, just to be extra prepared.

Finally, an oddity pops up at the corner of his _En_ , and he drags Killua and Alluka into the closest alleyway, slowly letting his radar recede.

“The crowd was a little too busy,” Gon sighs, leaning against the wall. “I think we should find somewhere that’s not as crowded.”

His voice is just a little too loud, so that an eavesdropper would notice.

Alluka takes the time to lean next to him, using his body as cover from the eyes of anyone else. She rubs the tiredness out of her eyes, and then closes them for a few seconds, waking herself up.

“There’s a pretty forest I read about in the South,” Alluka says, voice deceptively bright. Gon doesn’t have to look at her to know that she’s smirking.

“Sounds good,” Gon says, and steps back into the street. Killua falls into line with him as Alluka half-skips and hums, leading the way.

“It’s not my family,” Killua murmurs, voice low. They are close enough that he doesn’t have to whisper into Gon’s ear.

Gon extends his _En_ again, gentler this time, and a decisive hole of _Nen_ lingers at the edge, much more _void_ than simply nothing. The assassin is drawing closer.

“ _Zetsu_ is a cheap trick,” Gon agrees. “I think my dad is underestimating me,”

“I think your dad is a dick,” Killua mutters.

Gon laughs at that, and takes Killua’s hand. “Can’t lose you to the crowd, can I?” he jokes.

Killua grins. “I don’t think you could lose me if you tried.”

It is an admission that makes Gon’s heart jump, but from Killua’s mouth the words seem casual, easy. Maybe some truths are just like that. 

Soon enough, they are at the edges of the forest, and they meander a little ways in. Alluka seems to be making sure to watch her surroundings, because she steps off the trail and leads them in deeper, until they stumble into a clearing, city out of sight.

A minute passes before a dagger hits the ground, hilt marked with a snake carving.

Both of them exchange looks and sigh.

“We can see you,” Killua calls out, pointedly staring at the shadowed figure that jumps around them. “Are you going to come out?”

They hear a hissing sound before a man jumps down to meet them. He has average looking-features, and would blend into a crowd without notice, if it weren’t for the large numbers of daggers on his person.

“I suppose we’ll just have to fight,” the man says, undoing his _Zetsu_. “A couple of kids will be easy.”

In a flash, Killua has kicked him in the gut, sending him flying backwards. Gon is already there when the man lands, and he has him under a stranglehold within mere moments.

The man lets out a frustrated growl, but doesn’t struggle. Gon is making sure of that.

The sun behind him, Killua casts a strong shadow over the both of them, and Gon smiles up at him.

Killua does not smile. His gaze grows dark and soulless, and he does not look at Gon. He wrests the fallen dagger from where it has buried itself in the ground, and Gon can feel the smirk on the man’s lips. He waits for a few seconds to pass until the man lets out a noise of surprise, because idiots never do their research.

_Really, if you’re going to poison a dagger_ , Gon thinks, _you wouldn’t engrave it with a snake. Who the fuck is that obvious._

Killua picks up the fallen dagger and places it a centimeter away from the man’s throat. He is not like this often, but when he is, he is always just a little out of reach, and it scares Gon. But he always comes back, and Gon always trusts him.

“I would kill you if this happened a year ago,” he says, and it makes Gon feel calm. “You should feel lucky. Tell me, who was it that sent you?”

The man scowls. “A client’s name does not matter,” he spits at Killua.

“So you don’t know,” Killua answers for him. “Well, are you going to attack us again? Try to finish the job?” His voice almost carries a mocking tone, but it is overwhelmingly filled with disinterest. 

The man sneers at him, remaining silent.

“I would advise against it, because if you do, I will kill you,” Killua promises. “Surely you have more money to make off of other missions. Leave us alone and you will die on another job.”

Slowly, the assassin nods.

“Also,” Killua says, “if you tell anyone anything, you’ll probably die, and they’ll probably die. Trust me.” With the dagger, he cuts off a lock of the man’s hair with a smile. “For a keepsake,” he says.  

Gon releases him from his grasp, and the assassin is gone without any parting words.

“How annoying,” Alluka says, walking towards them. “Why can’t they leave you alone?”

Killua shrugs. “They sure are boring,” he says. He turns to Gon after pocketing the dagger. “What was it you wanted to tell me?” he asks him, and his eyes are warm like usual.

“Oh,” Gon says. “I’ll tell you when we’re alone.”

Killua frowns, but doesn’t comment. “Okay,” he says. “I know a place we can stay the night,” he adds.

“Would you mind carrying me?” Alluka asks, rubbing at her eyes again. “I’m sorry. Nanika has just worn me out, and we’ve been traveling for a while.”

Killua pats her head. “Of course,” he says, crouching down to let her ride piggyback.

They jump to the top of a tree, light on their feet. Killua motions for Gon to follow him, and leaps from tree to tree, always steady, careful not to disturb Alluka, who has already drifted off into sleep. It doesn’t take long before they find themselves on a skyscraper, Killua pointing out a small building that Gon has to squint to look at.  

It is a convenient location in the business part of Yorknew, and Killua assures that it doesn’t ask too many questions. This is true. Killua walks in, meets eyes with the receptionist, and gets thrown a pair of keys and pointed upstairs. Gon finds it wonderful, how Killua carries that beautiful charisma and confidence around him, without noticing it, without seeing how bright he is.

Gon finds it in the way Alluka’s eyes shine when she looks at him, the way Nanika gets visibly soft around him, the way that the receptionist’s eyes linger on Killua’s frame for a second longer than they maybe should. It’s something about the smile he carries under all the power, under all the electricity.

“When we’re alone, I’m holding you to it,” Killua says, as they wander around the city. “Whatever you meant to say, I know you didn’t forget it.”

Gon doesn’t even get to agree. Killua is already running off without a second glance, a smile of pure elation forming on his face as he dashes through the sky. Gon follows without hesitation, would follow him anywhere if Killua asked. Because Killua is laughing, without a shred of bad intention, and that sound is something that pulls him forward.

Gon once believed that the journey and the prize were worth more than anything. That for the knowledge of who his father is and how he was would mean more than anything to him. He cannot help but feel that the presence of Killua by his side is worth more than all of that.

 

* * *

He is buzzing with boundless energy. Killua is right next to him, staring up at the ceiling, mouth already settling into a frown, like he knows what Gon is about to do.

Gon bounces up into a sitting position. “Killuaaaaaaa,” he says, not bothering to hide how whiny he sounds. “Let’s walk.”

“No,” Killua says, “no, no, no. no, _no_.” He glares at Gon. “I refuse to put up with this again.”

“But—”

“It’s midnight, Gon,” Killua stresses, cutting him off.

“It’s actually 2:33,” Gon adds helpfully, glancing at the clock on the nightstand.

Killua stares at him, eyebrow raised. Gon smiles and Killua groans. “I hate you,” he mutters.

“A little scouting never hurt anybody, and I know you can’t sleep!” Gon says, and in the spaces in between he chants _not now, not when I’m almost there_ in his head. And Killua sighs because he understands, and that leaves a warm and content feeling in Gon’s chest.

“So you agree,” Gon says, failing to hide his glee.

Killua sighs again. “So I do,” he concedes.

Killua gets up with a sort of natural grace, pushing off the covers and stretching, fingers interlocked and hands rising up in the air, ruffled shirt straightening out. He leans over the space between the two beds and runs a hand through Alluka’s hair, soft smile on his face. His fingers catch on a bead, and he carefully slides it off, placing it on the nightstand.

“I’m only doing this because you can’t look after yourself,” he grumbles.

“Sure, sure.” Gon waves him off, rummages through his pockets for scrap paper, and scribbles a quick note to Alluka. He stretches a hand over Killua’s shoulder, trying to drop it on the nightstand next to her bed.

“Oh, come on,” Killua mumbles, and he tugs on Gon’s arm.

Whatever careful balance Gon had been maintaining is completely ruined, and he’s just sprawled over Killua’s lap, note still in hand. Killua snatches it out of his hands with a smirk and places the note where it should be.

“That was unnecessary.”

“Get off,” Killua says.

Gon grins and doesn’t move.

Killua makes a disgruntled noise that’s really just half laughter, and shoves Gon off his lap, before scrambling off of the bed. He grabs Gon’s wrist and leads him towards the exit.

“Let’s go,” he says.

“Jacket?” Gon asks.

“Don’t need it.” Killua waves dismissively, hand reaching out for the doorknob.

Gon reaches out and taps his shoulder. “Shoes?”

Killua blushes as he turns away from the door, and searches for his shoes, trying to hide how flustered he is. Gon picks them off from the floor, right where Killua left them, tosses them to him, and slips on his own, holding the door wide open and waiting.

A minute later, they are out in the city streets, strolling past the sparkling lights that dot the buildings, of late-night office shifts and forgotten light switches. Killua pulls out a map from his pocket, skimming it to find a sense of direction. “Where to?” Yorknew nights are cold even in the middle of summer, but Killua remains unfazed. Gon steps a bit closer, wondering if he could somehow give Killua his warmth.

“McDonald’s?” Gon asks.

Killua snorts. “Obviously. I’m getting a Chocorobo for all this trouble.”

They set off, winding through streets and avoiding the people walking far too fast for so late, probably running on coffee and sheer determination. It’s a force they’d rather not mess with. So they walk together, ignoring the hard stares of passerby, and Gon watches Killua’s shoulders relax, watches the hard edges and biting words fall apart, talks to him aimlessly and watches him intently until they reach their destination.

“Oh, fuck,” Killua says when they reach the glass doors. He sighs, and jabs at Gon’s chest. “I keep forgetting,” he says. “You have to tell me.”

Gon laughs, almost nervous. “You’re really hung up on this,” he says.

Killua flushes. “You’re the one who said it was important,” he grumbles.

“Technically, I didn’t _say_ it,” Gon says, and gets shoved in response.

The McDonald’s restaurant feels like a big building, despite being one-story and relatively small compared to its surroundings. But with the bright red paint and the huge logo plastered on the front, it’s impossible to miss. Gon pushes open the glass door and steps inside. Killua follows close behind, and closes the door softly behind him. The bell rings throughout the restaurant.

It’s empty, save for two people locked in a tight embrace. One is clearly in uniform, and obviously notices their intrusion, but doesn’t immediately pull away. He hears soft murmurs coming from the two.

And Gon hasn’t hesitated at any moment of this journey, because he won’t be pulled from his goal, but now he freezes. He knows that he is watching a sort of intimacy that should not be broken.

He almost takes a step back, but Killua grabs his arm and keeps him grounded. Killua’s hand is cold from the night air, and it is the perfect shock to his system. He shoots Killua a grateful smile.

The one with blond hair slowly pulls away, turning to face them. His eyes are half-closed, and his shoulders rise and fall in a steady rhythm. His name is Kurapika, Gon notes, looking at the nametag on his uniform. His eyes flutter open, like he’s breaking out of a trance. It might just be the brightness of the outside of the McDonald’s, but he thinks he sees a soft red glow in Kurapika’s eyes. But it passes in a flash, and Kurapika’s eyes are just a deep dark brown.

Kurapika fiddles nervously with his fingers, avoiding eye contact with the other man, who’s looking at him with wide eyes. He, too, looks like he’s been struck by a spell, because even as he straightens up, his eyes do not leave Kurapika.

“Welcome to McDonald’s. Did you two want something?” Kurapika says. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

The other man finally seems to snap out of it, curiously peering at them. His curiosity does not disguise his blush.

“Hi,” Gon starts, smiling and hoping to create a friendly appearance, “I was wondering if you had any archive records?”

Kurapika blinks slowly and Gon sighs internally. He’s not quite sure they even heard him. On second thought, asking during the night shift probably wasn’t the best idea, and asking random workers wouldn’t most likely get them anywhere.

Killua glances around nervously and tightens his grip on Gon’s arm, making him aware of the dark aura sweeping within the walls of the place. _We should leave_ , Gon thinks, and he’s about to, but Kurapika interrupts his thoughts.

“What do you need to know?”

“Huh?”

“It’s a big corporation,” Kurapika says with a frown. “I can find some things, but not everything.”

“Ah, we were just doing research on the Happy Meal deluxe toys,” Killua says, voice deliberately nonchalant. “Like the recent stuff, you know? The last 20 years or so.”

Gon wants to snicker at how bad Killua is at changing his speech patterns. Though maybe if he wasn't used to the way Killua normally speaks, he wouldn’t notice.

Kurapika’s eyes are sharp, and so are his movements. Gon wonders what it is like to see him walking, when you first meet him. If some people find something bright and unsettling and beautiful within it. It feels like something Gon should know, because he sees something in the other man’s eyes, but he can’t put his finger on it.

“Have a computer?” Kurapika asks, and Gon sighs, giving a pointed look towards Killua.

Killua flinches, and he’s about to hiss back something about how he’s keeping Gon safe, but he says nothing.  

And then something hurts in his heart, and Gon wants to tell him _trust me, it will be okay_ , but Killua just shrugs his shoulders to hide it and sighs. His hand strays towards Gon but does not clasp it, settling instead to just brush his fingertips against Gon’s arm.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” he says.

“We might as well stay,” Gon tells him, shaking his head slightly. There’s always a good side to things, and he’s not about to let this night go to waste. And even if Killua isn’t the happiest about it, he’ll have to—make do, he supposes.

Besides, he’s sure of it—these are no ordinary people. He’s been feeling the strange _Nen_ that this location has, a mix of things from all over the world, and now that he’s gotten used to it, the sinister feeling won’t throw him off sight.

Kurapika is powerful beyond belief. It’s felt past all the dark aura around, and he contains something bright and vicious and burning, but Gon cannot feel his malice.

_You understand, right?_ This is what he asks, stepping closer to Killua and grabbing his hand. Killua flinches again— _fear, uncertainty_ —but soon enough, the trembling stills, and Killua sighs, intertwining their fingers.

“Alright.” He knows, too—it’s not just that, because despite the foreboding feeling that hides in the walls, the two people in front of him are exceptional people. _They are not enemies_ , he thinks, and Killua nods, ever so slightly, but tells him _not yet_ with a worried glance and so Gon squeezes his hand and promises it will be okay.

Killua’s not completely satisfied with that, so Gon pulls him closer and whispers in his ear. “Illumi’s not following us, Killua, I promise.”

“I know,” Killua hisses in his ear. “But we’ve got to be careful.”

“I’ll protect you!” Gon bursts out, louder than he intended. “You’re so _strong_ , Killua, and you could probably protect yourself, but if that isn’t enough, I’ll do it!”

“But maybe that will be the thing that gets you killed!” Killua whispers, and it hits Gon like a ton of bricks.

“Oh,” he says, speechless. And it’s quiet, it’s so quiet—their whole conversation has been quiet, but it feels like there is only silence around them now.

“Trust me, Killua?” he asks. He cannot hear his voice when he says it, but Killua nods anyways, because he can hear him, because he listens with far more attention than anyone else.

“Do—do you have Chocorobos here?” Gon asks, and Kurapika smiles. “I can ring you up a bag,” he says, and then he’s off, vaulting over the counter with an easy familiarity.

Gon clears his throat, looking directly at the other man. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

He grins in return, an easy smile, and Gon feels Killua relax his shoulders. “Leorio Paladiknight,” he says. “You?”

“Gon Freecs.”

Killua does not sigh, does not complain. He just nods a little towards Leorio and says, “I’m Killua.”

Gon grins—to whom exactly, he’s really not sure—grips Killua’s hand tightly, and launches forward. “Have you heard of Greed Island?”

 

* * *

 

As they exit, pockets a few hundred jenny lighter and with a Chocorobo toy in Killua’s pocket, Gon doesn’t look back.

He knows that a lot of people might look at him weirdly for that sort of thing, but the truth is, he doesn’t care for things like lingering glances or walking backwards or looking over his shoulder. It feels so much freer to walk forward, to run in with no hesitation, to move in leaps and bounds and move faster and faster until suddenly you find yourself flying.

_There’s no point in dwelling on things that have been or will be_ , Gon thinks. _All you can do is savor the now._

_That_ , Gon thinks, skipping down the streets with Killua, hearing the city buzz and him with noise, _is how I want to live._

Killua smiles at him, and maybe he lowers his pace just a little, because maybe he’s got some time to spare. Or maybe because he’s waiting for something.

“You said you were going to tell me what you supposedly forgot,” Killua says.

“Well,” Gon says, “I did.”

“Then why won’t you?”

“I just… have some doubt, I guess.”

Killua raises an eyebrow. “Trust me?” he parrots back.

And then Gon looks at Killua—really _looks_ at him, looks at the gleam in his eyes and his ruffled hair and the way he walks like he’s made of air, and looks and looks and the way his mouth curves up—and he throws his doubt to the wind.

“I—”

Killua spins around on the street to face him, stopping him in his tracks. He looks impossibly fond. “You're never at a loss for words. Why now?"

"Because it's important."

Killua smiles. "Out with it, Gon. You’re going to tell me this today, whether you like it or not.”

“I think you’re the most important part of my life,” Gon says. And it’s an admission, but an easy one, a natural one, because some truths cannot be hidden.

Killua smiles. His cheeks are pink. “I think the same,” he says.

“It’s not just that,” Gon says, and he moves up to him, stares into Killua’s blue eyes, and lets himself go.

“I want you by side forever. You make me feel like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

Killua’s smile grows wider. His cheeks grow redder. “I—”

“Now who’s at a loss for words?” Gon teases.

“I feel the same,” Killua says with a nervous laugh, shoving at him half-heartedly. “Come on, we should—”

Gon grabs his hands. “Take it slow,” he says. “We’ll walk slowly.”

Killua grins. “Just for tonight,” he says.

“Just for a few minutes,” Gon amends, and Killua’s eyes twinkle.

A warmth blooms within him, brighter than the sun, and Gon wonders if Killua can feel it on his skin, can feel all of the unexplainable parts of Gon’s truth. _I think about you all the time_ , he does not say, does not let it be vocalized as anything more than the burning feeling that they share in their joined hands.

“Hey, Gon?” Killua asks.

“Yeah?”

Killua smirks. “It’s been a few minutes.”

Gon quickens his pace. “You sure?” There it is again, that _feeling_ , and it bubbles up in him and suddenly he can’t stop smiling and his heart feels like it’s made of fireworks. He doesn’t know what this is but it feels wonderful, and knowing that is enough.

Killua matches him easily, and infuriatingly tucks his hands in his pockets, away from Gon’s grasp. “Alluka may as well be thirty by the time we arrive.”

And then Killua is tricky like always, so he gives no warning and runs.

He flies forward, leaving blue sparks on his trail, laughter echoing throughout empty alleyways, and Gon runs after him, into the sky and the endless expanse of stars, shiny spots of light that burst through the dark blue. And Killua is bright within the darkness, hair spiked up and glowing electric blue, moving like the wind that carries his laugh.

It takes a minute before the rest of the world comes into focus again, as they stumble into their room to find Alluka sitting up on her bed and grinning fiercely.

“I felt you two!” she cries. “I felt it!”

“Nice!” Killua says. “I’m happy to see you improving.”

The electricity has faded from Killua’s skin, but it doesn’t even waver in his eyes.

“I beat this loser here,” Killua says, “so he is paying for meals tomorrow.”

He grins and Gon feels strong.

It’s the closest word he can find that names this feeling. And it’s not the quest he’s been wanting all these years, but the feeling.

“I can’t sleep,” Alluka says. “You two should sleep. And I’ll keep watch.” She’s bouncing on the bed, energy flooding into the room, and the windows blow open, letting in the fresh night air.

Killua tackles Alluka into a hug and she cackles in delight. Gon kicks off his shoes and jumps right into their hug, and their limbs tangle together.

“Can’t sleep either,” Killua says into Alluka’s hair. “We can watch the sun come up, and sleep then.”

Alluka nods before looking towards Gon.

“Sounds perfect,” he says, and it is no exaggeration.

Once they successfully manage to separate themselves—apparently Killua is ticklish so this process takes much longer than it should—Killua pushes back the curtains and the three of them watch the sunrise together, wait until the sky glows orange and purple.

“You think that we should see Kurapika and Leorio again?” Gon asks.

Killua hums. “I like them,” he says. “They’re fun, and kind.” He turns to Alluka. “How do you feel about meeting them?”

She’s already asleep. Killua sighs and ruffles her hair. “Another time, then,” he murmurs.

Gon nudges Killua’s side. “I hope that we become friends,” he says.

“It would be nice,” Killua agrees.

Gon yawns. “It would,” he says. “But I’d always like you best.”

He can feel Killua smile next to him. “Me too,” he says.

“Glad we have that… in order,” Gon mumbles, leaning onto Killua’s shoulder.

He’s warm. Gon’s eyes grow heavy, and he drifts off to sleep.

 

* * *

“Hey,” Gon whispers.

It’s night again.

Killua laughs. “Is this going to be a thing from now on?”

“I’d like that,” he murmurs. “I’d like that if you’d like it.”

Killua hums happily and rolls over, tumbling into him, and Gon kicks the covers off, letting them pile up at the foot of the bed.

“Payback,” Killua says with a vicious grin, and he’s tickling Gon in a flash.

He laughs without trying, chest tight and warm and happy. And then he devolves into giggles and finds himself short of breath, almost until it becomes painful.

“Gon? Killua?” Alluka sits up from her bed, and Killua draws back from Gon’s sides, leaving him red-faced and energized.  

“Going somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Killua says. “Wanna come with? There are some people you might like.”

“Then I’d like to go,” Alluka says, sliding off of the bed. “But first I will comb my hair.”

And then Gon laughs, wondering if he’ll ever be calm again, but he thinks it wouldn’t be so bad, to be so happy.

“Get up already,” Killua says, and he runs a hand through Gon’s hair.

“I’m going to stare at the ceiling,” Gon says. Killua huffs in disbelief, but leaves him there. So he lies there as he hears Killua and Alluka get ready, and the noises are comforting and familiar. He thinks that he likes that he is used to it.

“Let’s go,” Alluka tells him after a few minutes, offering a hand. Gon takes it and she pulls him upright.

Gon does not look back. He just glances at Killua, smiles, and holds his fist out. Killua bumps his fist without a moment’s hesitation, and Gon feels a pact in the space between, something sweet and true.

And so they walk out into the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ch title is from ace attorney 3,, because. it fits. 
> 
> hmu @ sonnets-of-beauty if u want, and as always thank you for reading! if you'd like, drop a comment on your thoughts!


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